Dare To Heir
Chapter 2
It has been a long and exhausting day. His tiny, perfect son had been laid to rest dressed in a beautiful pristine white body length sheath. It was embroidered in golden thread with the family crest positioned over his tiny heart; a heart that had never had the opportunity to beat. Each stitch had been lovingly attached to the finest of Fae silk by the hands of Jareth's own mother. She might not always have been the most affectionate of mothers to him, but her grief over the loss of her grandchild was genuine.
Jareth had held his son only once. After Willum's departure, he put much thought into hastening to the queen's bedside. Instead of going to Giselle, he made his way to the preparatory chamber where his child was being made ready for his eventual entombment.
By Fae reckoning death was nearly unheard of, but there were occasions when it could not be staved off such as fatalities through war during hand-to-hand combat. There was no escaping the possibility of death in those circumstances. Not to mention nefarious deeds, one of which, was poisonings. Although, such things seldom happened as they could be relatively easy to trace to its source.
Then, there were situations such as this. All too many Jareth thought dismally. When he wondered, was the last time a child was born to a Fae couple. Not to the common people of his lands, for they seemed to have had no problem propagating; no difficulties whatsoever. Why were Fae children of royal ancestry destined to be in the minority?
The healers were clueless as to the cause. Extensive examinations had been undertaken of both male and females only to turn up nothing. No physical reason as to why a royal Fae woman rarely gave birth. When an actual child was produced from a coupling, the female were zealously guarded against all possible injury or harm so that there was no impediment preventing the child from reaching full fruition. Sadly, this type of protection was very rarely needed.
Jareth had entered the chamber just as his son was being wrapped in a towel after having been bathed and anointed. As he took the babe in his arms, the aroma of herbs and spices used in the oils which covered his small form, reached his nose. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply taking strange comfort in the sweet smell.
Clutching him close to his own body, Jareth was barely able to control the agony which was ripping through him. This was his son! His child! Flesh of his flesh! The emotions welling up in him were beyond reason. Why, oh why, had this horrible this happened?
The workers in the chamber were caught between embarrassment and curiosity. Was the Ice King going to break down right now, right here? The idea was mind-boggling. The queen was not one to keep her emotions in check. The king, on the other hand, was reputed to never let down his guard.
Gossip-mongering was one of the few elements which even the king was doomed to fail at controlling or suppressing in the castle; so at the moment, he was presently surrounded by a rapt audience. Some carried hopes of juicy tidbits to pass along to their friends. Alas, the chamber workers were doomed to disappointment for the king did not break down, but simply kissed the child tenderly on the brow while returning him to one of the workers, leaving the chamber without a backward glance.
The queen swept into the room, the hem of her midnight blue dress trailing behind her tall graceful body. Sparing his wife a glance, Jareth dispassionately noted how the unmistakable signs of distress marking her face did not detract from her astounding beauty. Her waist length raven-hued hair was twisted into a gravity-defying, elaborate design of curls and braids. Placed on top of this masterpiece was a delicate gold filigree crown encrusted with modest, albeit perfect diamonds. The sight of her amethyst eyes red-rimmed and slightly swollen from hours of weeping should have evoked the urge to console, but it did not.
Theirs was not a love match, not that such matches were common place. Marriages in the Underground were built upon what each could benefit from the other. Generally, the benefits were in terms of stature and money but even more important was the power one could eventually possess. The royal Fae hungered after not just any type of power, no indeed. What all the Fae strived to garner for themselves was power of magical origin. Often, when two powerful Fae merged their strengths and gifts through reproduction, the potential of their offspring was staggering.
The magical signatures left to a child by he, and Giselle would have most likely been monumental; even more so, in the event of a son. Though many realms in the Underground were competently ruled by females, the Goblin Kingdom was not one such realm. Physical stamina was needed. The goblins, though not the brightest of beings, often found themselves in situations where brute strength had to be utilized. Therefore, the genteel breeding and delicate physique of Fae women were non-conducive to such ventures.
"Jareth, where have you been?" The question was asked in a slight accusatory tone. "How am I to explain your absence?"
Giselle watched her husband casually display remarkable dexterity as he twirled four glass orbs between his leather-encased fingers and then throw them one by one in the air each disappearing without so much as a "pop" to be heard. She had always admired Jareths' proficiency with the baubles although she could state with all honesty she thought the use of them ridiculous. He was powerful enough that such garish exhibits were superfluous.
Power – the root of her attraction to Jareth, but not the sole root. No, he had other fine attributes, she would willingly admit. He was extraordinarily handsome, and came from a prestigious and renowned family and would one day take his rightful place as High King.
"My dear, I have business to attend. You may tell those hypocritical morons that if you wish."
Giselle's face clouded over. "Someone has a wished a child away?"
Jareth, for once, was on a similar wavelength, and he strived to keep the bitterness from his voice. "That is exactly the case, my queen."
"Could we… If they do not… I mean… Would it be possible…?"
Jareth had never seen Giselle babble on so, and while his mother would be horrified, he found it to be vaguely amusing. Suddenly, Jareth knew precisely what was on her mind and hastened to disabuse her.
"No, Giselle!" He bit out nastily. Seeing her crestfallen expression, he added more gently, "It is not possible, you know this. There is a multitude of reasons the most important of which is that only a child of royal blood can inherit."
Wringing her hands together the distraught queen hastened to agree. "Of course, how could I have for one moment entertained such a notion?" A hollow laugh escaped her. "You must think me an idiot."
Giselle's head snapped up when she felt his fingers briefly grasp her own. It was a small measure of comfort and took her by surprise. Jareth so rarely touched her outside of the bedchamber.
"Of course not," he whispered. "You are in despair, and so your thinking is clouded. It is understandable."
At this unexpected display of gentleness, the queen let out a choked sob. Jareth was dismayed. While he felt her sorrow deeply, he did not have time for this. Someone then cleared their throat discreetly in as much as it was possible to be discreet given the situation.
"Ah, Willum, there you are." Jareth steered Giselle toward the doorway where his advisor stood. "Please, tend to the queen. I must fetch a child."
"Of course, my lord." Willum respectfully held out his arm to the queen. She placed her hand on it giving him a small smile and allowed him to lead her from the room.
With a snap of his fingers, Jareth's official court garments disappeared to be replaced by his Goblin King Stealer of Children ensemble. Form fitting, shimmering black armor embraced every muscle of his torso and arms while black boots followed the length of his breech covered legs. The stiff collar of the dark cloak framed his face making his white-blond hair a perfect foil. He looked exactly as he was meant to look. Dangerous. Frightening. Completely and utterly devoid of mercy, and today of all days, Jareth was determined to be just that… only ten-fold.