Unseeled

by FangamerBowiextreme

Sarah, contending over the imminent death of her terminally ill father, receives a proposition that sounds too good to be true. The life of her father, the eternal protection of a fae over her family, in exchange for her hand in marriage. In a moment of weakness, and too guilt-stricken to refuse, she accepts the proposal -but to whom, she has no idea. So long as it isn't 'Him'.

14. Chapter 14

A/N— So here's the thing. It um...it's got some stuff in it. Nothing I need to disclaim though...I think. Enjoy Sarah being angry —a lot.

---

Chapter 14, Against the Wall

---

The sudden appearance of Sarah's bedroom before her face came as a startle to her, the vacuum of sound and vibration alone jarring her equilibrium. She took a large step away from Merek and peered around sharply, suffering a moment of physical disbelief as she oriented her surroundings. Her heart was pounding harder than ever before, so hard the tips of her fingers tingled with the residual instinct to run. Merek, however, did not suffer this reaction. No, he was standing with his back to her, already at work igniting a light-work of runes and sigils in the air. Sarah's feverish eyes traced their patterns quickly, darting around as each one expanded and contracted, turning like gears —drawing her into further confusion.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

Merek's hands twisted the air, operating the strange, glowing symbols like the cogs of a machine.

"Reinforcing the warding around this room," he said. Sarah frowned and looked past him at the door.

"Do you think it's not strong enough? Will…he really come after us?"

She shot her worried expression back at Merek, but he was too focused on the task to acknowledge it.

"No. He shouldn't. The sentinels had him —but I'd rather not take the chance."

Sarah did not say anything more, instead doing her best to compose herself while biting her lower lip and watching Merek work. Her arms crossed tightly over her chest, her feet practically jittering as she peered over at one open, precariously vulnerable window after another.

Soon, however, the rotation of the sigils slowed along with Merek's hands until they eventually lowered to his sides. The cords of light then faded into nothing, which Sarah inferred meant he was finished. He did not even fully turn around to face her by the time her anxiety came to head and had her stepping towards him.

"What's going to happen now?" she asked hastily. Merek paused on his heel, kept in place by the vehement look in her eye.

"Don't worry," he said, misinterpreting her energy. "We've been through this before. You're safe now."

Sarah shook her head.

"No. No, I'm asking what's going to happen to him?"

Merek's brows furrowed together.

"Lord Leche will be—"

And then a fit out outrage burst out of her.

"No!" she cut him off, practically seething in frustration, her hands rising and curling like clawed fists near her own face. "Jesus fucking— No. I'm talking about the Prince." She exhaled heavily through her nose, her eyes intent on Merek's as she prayed to the fucking Lord that he would not dare be so obtuse with her again. Merek blinked at her in disconcertion, his mouth opening slightly before responding to her.

"The Prince?" he repeated, dumbfounded. "Are you…alright?"

Sarah stared deadpan, mouth agape and all.

"Wh...what? Yes! Yes, I'm fine—"

"You're not hurt?" he asked, and she took a step back when he took a step forward. His attention raked over her being, which had her raising a stark eyebrow at him in return.

"No, I am not hurt," she said firmly.

Merek paused, sensing her obstinance, and lifted his eyes back to hers. She looked angry now. Angry at him.

"I'm sorry. I should have asked that right away. Forgive me for being preoccupied with—"

"Oh my fucking lord, come off it!" she snapped at him, rolling her eyes from the ceiling to the floor and back at him. She got the treat of seeing his eyes widen with aghast over such language from the castle mistress— "I appreciate your concern, Merek. I really do. But I swear to you, I am fine. I was fine then and I am fine now. Now please, please, just tell me what is happening to him?"

Merek's countenance became stony, seeming to be deeply perturbed that she would dare harbor genuine concern for that creature after the trauma she must have just experienced. Sarah had no patience for bullshit, however, and only stared back just as sharply.

"Lochlan is at work subduing him, perhaps even in the process of moving him to a secure area by now," he said, guardedly. Sarah fought the urge to tap her foot with all of her might.

"How do you know that?" she asked. Merek cocked a brow back at her.

"Because this castle is still standing." He spoke to her pointedly, exuding a small tension about him that implied he was not feeling particularly receptive of her attitude. She supposed he was annoyed with her now, having expected her to be grateful to be rescued by him —too bad she was in no state of being to flatter his ego. Sarah stuck to her guns and stood tall, even when he turned his back on her in dismissal. "I'm glad you're unharmed, but you should count yourself lucky. He seems to have an irregular fixation with you." and he peered back at her knowingly. "There could be more trouble like today if not managed more delicately."

Sarah bit the inside of her cheek to keep herself from snapping back, telling herself repeatedly that tensions were high and not to let either of their bad moods make a thing out of this. It simply wasn't worth it. Instead, she restricted herself to a stiff nod in acknowledgement.

That seemed to placate him well enough. His demeanor softened a notch and he even turned all the way around to face her.

"If you're fine being left alone for a bit, I should head back and help Lochlan," he said. Sarah kept her mouth tight.

"That's fine," she replied. Merek nodded.

"Alright. I advise you to stay in this room until told otherwise. I will send someone to keep you company when the situation becomes more stable."

Merek turned away from her again. He took a step to leave but was stopped by a sudden interjection.

"Merek, wait—" she called out. Merek turned back to her, not expecting the —now bothered— frown on her face. Her brow twisted and she even seemed to hesitate when saying, "...Talia was with him. I saw her there when I first arrived."

Sarah saw the light of surprise ghost behind Merek's eyes at this knowledge, a reaction that for some reason compelled her to glance away.

"She…looked pretty roughed up," she added, shrugging. "I don't know where she went, but could you also have someone check on her and make sure she's alright?"

She did not notice the shift in Merek's aura, the steeliness about him proving a perfect mask for the deep anger he was now fighting back from revealing. He stood tight lipped as he stared at Sarah, who was worrying over her own insecurities and thus none the wiser when he replied to her with a clipped, "Okay."

He left rather promptly after that, turning on his heel and vanishing. Sarah sucked in her cheek and scowled at the empty space, agitated by the silence just as much as the circumstances. She forced her fingers to cease tapping against her biceps and turned sharply away, letting out a rough sigh before scowling at everything.

---

Nearly two hours passed as Sarah waited for company. There were no updates, no letters of assurance, no alarms harkening the end. No, it was perfectly placid in her quiet, so ungodly quiet, little room.

She paced. Nearly the entire time, she paced, but no amount of scuttling would catch her up to her racing thoughts. This was very bad. The exact thing she was hoping to avoid. She didn't mean for things to escalate like that. Did she even have any hope, anyway? Why the fuck was he with Talia? What were they doing? Why was he so angry?

She wondered what it meant to subdue him and where this secure place was that Merek mentioned. Jareth looked like he was in such pain at the end. Those spears actually pierced him. It was…barbaric, surreal, frightening.

She bit on her nails as she fretted herself in circles, wondering whether or not this was it whilst simultaneously telling herself that this has happened before. They have protocols to deal with it. Of course he would be fine. This kind of thing…just happens sometimes…

She ended up sighing in defeat, releasing her crossed arms and standing idle in the middle of her room. Yes, she felt guilty that she wasn't able to pull Jareth back, but he was already manic when she'd found him. It wasn't her fault. And Lochlan…Lochlan had just told her that sometimes it even came on spontaneously. It was no one's fault. There was nothing to be done. Was there really nothing to be done?

She was so deep in rumination that she actually jumped when a sudden knock came at her door which she then glared at sharply.

"Um, hello?" she asked. The voice beyond the door was muffled.

"Mistress? It's Miri. The Captain sent me to see how you are. May I come in?"

Sarah eased up and relaxed her shoulders, surprised, confused and relieved that it was her.

"Yeah…of course," she said, schooling her features before walking over and opening the door. Miri nodded at her in acknowledgement once they stood face to face.

"Thank you," she said and silently moved inside.

Sarah closed the door behind them, compulsively crossing her arms again as she followed Miri into the room. The old woman paused at about the same spot Sarah had just been standing in, then turned around to face her.

"I see the Captain has fortified the wards," she said, peering around the room. Sarah did the same.

"Yeah. As a precaution, I guess."

Miri looked over at Sarah.

"An unnecessary one," she said, pinning Sarah with sudden, strict eye contact then looked away with a sigh. "There is cautiousness and then there's overkill," she explained, taking a few slow steps in front of the table. "The wardings as they were would not have broken from a level two." and then she subtly rolled her eyes. "While I think we all appreciate the Captain's due diligence, he can sometimes be…overzealous, I'm afraid." and then she glanced at Sarah again. "I apologize if the implication frightened you."

She looked away again and back at the room before Sarah could respond, folding her hands in front of herself with the straightest posture Sarah had ever seen. As Sarah observed Miri's passive behavior, she actually did feel some relief, nursing the tiniest hope that what happened today wasn't as bad as it seemed.

"It didn't," Sarah said, stepping closer to her. "I wasn't concerned about him barging in here."

Miri cracked a split second smirk and let out the tiniest huff.

"Good."

Sarah darted her eyes from side to side.

"So um…what I saw today…was a level two? Not a three?" she asked. Miri turned back to face her like she'd been lost in thought.

"That's correct. From what I was told, you can consider today's events a standard two."

Sarah blinked, not responding right away, and the knit in her brows returned. So that…all of that: the rage, the attacks, the bringing down the ceiling? That was all within a level two? She did not want to admit it, but imagining what it would take for Jareth to be considered in a level three event…unnerved her.

Her daydreams were turning quite vivid by the time Miri broke through to her.

"Are you alright, Mistress?"

Sarah blinked again, this time shaking her head and forcing a smile.

"Yeah. Yeah, sorry. I was just…" But her voice trailed off. Miri regarded the slight curl to her lip and far away look in her eye, and frowned.

"The Captain told me you were unharmed physically, but are you well? This must have been your first time witnessing him in that state. Did anything…inappropriate happen? Would you like to talk?"

Sarah flinched uncomfortably at that, feeling put on the spot and admittedly reluctant. She did not really know Miri all that well yet and wasn't sure she wanted to divulge her current feelings on all of it, let alone the more intimate physical details.

"I'm fine," Sarah quickly assured her, putting on airs like it was second nature. "I mean, yeah, I'm a little shook up. It was kind of crazy to see him like that —but me? I'm fine. If anything I'm just a little pent up from waiting so long for an update." She laughed weakly at the end and shrugged. It was impossible to tell if Miri saw through her veneer.

"Oh, of course. My apologies, you must have been so restless," she said, lowering her head with another small sigh. "I would have come sooner, but the Captain also asked me to check on Talia. I was told she was potentially injured, so I thought visiting her to be the first priority."

The mention of Talia's name sent a sizzle down Sarah's spine, but she ignored it, along with the new tension in her crossed arms. Needing a deflection from all her less than sympathetic mannerisms, she looked over and gestured at the dining table.

"Oh. Yeah, of course. That's totally understandable. Would you like to sit?" she asked, taking the initiative to sit herself down first and stew behind the safety of the table. Miri nodded and joined her, her gaze still lowered in discontent. Sarah observed that look carefully.

"So then…you saw her just now?" she asked. Miri nodded.

"Yes. She's confined to her room, at the moment."

Sarah bit the inside of her lip.

"...how is she?"

Miri took a deep breath, her narrow shoulders rising in the process. She seemed a little exasperated to Sarah's perspective, which was interesting.

"She will be fine," Miri said, with some terseness. "You are kind to offer your concern, Mistress, but fae women are durable…and Talia well knew what she was trying to bite at…"

---

It was only thirty minutes prior that Miri found herself standing in front of and knocking on Talia's door, her head lowered but her expression steeled —unsure of what to expect. A part of her was worried for her wellbeing, while another part knew better. That girl was practically a ticking time bomb. Her blatant disregard for authority should have been sign enough that she did not belong there. Miri practically cursed under her breath when no response came from beyond the door, then took it upon herself to open it and step inside.

Despite the silence, Talia was right where she expected her to be —sitting with hunched shoulders there on the edge of the bed. Miri closed the door behind herself and approached her, standing tall with a discerning gaze that swept over every inch of that girl.

"Why did you not welcome me in?" Miri asked.

Talia stared at the wall in the opposite direction, her mouth tight and with no response. Miri scowled.

"I heard you had an encounter with His Highness today," she said, her tone baited. "Are you harmed?"

Talia straightened her back and lifted her chin. There were bruises visible on her neck and face, and a deep cut towards the corner of her lower lip.

"No, Madam," she answered.

Miri's eyes narrowed.

"I see you have some injuries. Perhaps we should have them treated—"

"There's no need," Talia interjected, failing to conceal her grin beneath pursed lips. She actually sounded proud when she added, "It's just some bumps and bruises."

Miri pursed her lips tightly, then took a few steps around the bed to stand closer to Talia, nodding her head while folding her hands together.

"I see. That's a relief," she said, then stopped pacing when directly in front of her and stared down sternly. "That means you can stand."

Talia looked up at her quizzically.

"Why do I—"

"Stand, Entalienne."

The command in Miri's words did not manifest in her tone, as stern as it was, but rather from the utterance of her name. The sound passed from Miri's mouth with a quiver of magic, seizing that obstinate girl and compelling her straight to her feet. Talia had the gall to be surprised by it. Miri never abused the power of their given names and she certainly had not anticipated it now. She scrunched her brow as she was forced to stand, teetering awkwardly whilst scowling at the floor.

Miri stared down her nose at the petulant sight. She was a tall woman and used that stature to exert her authority over her pitifully demeaned ward as she waited for her to eventually glance up at her.

Both were silent. Talia's defiance shone brightly in her eyes before Miri wound back an arm and slapped her starkly across the face.

Talia's head whipped to the side but despite her surprise she did not so much as whimper.

"How dare you," Miri said, disapproval laden in her voice. By the time Talia started to look back at her, she was struck again from the other side. "How dare you do something so foolish. You have not only endangered yourself but every single person on this island. You know our rules. You know the consequences of your actions. I turned a blind eye to your sneaking off because I thought you were meeting with that kitchen aid. Disrespect for your post and my authority aside, at least you weren't off on your own. But this…was finding him your intention all along?" Her question was meant to be rhetorical, but the reflexive flicker of Talia's eyes in reaction to it incited even more admonishment in Miri. "You stupid girl," she muttered, shaking her head in disappointment. "You must have seen his eyes today, yes?" she asked.

Talia looked to the side, keeping her expression steeled.

"Of course I did," she replied.

Miri's thin mouth pursed tightly together.

"You know what the colors mean—which means you knew he was vulnerable today and you went ahead and triggered a fit anyway. Did you do that on purpose too? Are you proud of yourself? Dear gods, Talia, you've made him worse!"

Miri was not a woman who lost composure easily. In fact, she could not even remember the last time she'd actually shouted at someone. And yet here she was, tensed to the point of stone and fighting back the temptation to reach out and shake the impudent girl back to her senses. And the look on Talia's face…oh, it was like lecturing a snot-nosed child.

"Worse? He is no worse now than he has always been. You give me too much credit," Talia replied, her arms crossed defensively as she glared out at the wall. Both of her cheeks were reddening. It made her look even more petulant.

Miri felt a barely controlled flare of anger surge up in her chest.

"Insolence!" she yelled, her back never straighter. "How dare you speak back to me, let alone under these present conditions. We are here to serve and protect our Prince, not use him for…for whatever it is you hoped to gain by all this." She huffed and made a flippant gesture towards Talia's person. "I know what went on between the two of you today, Talia. The sentinels see all. Know that this situation is now your responsibility and you will be held accountable for it."

Now that got Talia's attention. Her head snapped back to Miri in a fright.

"W-what? What do you mean by that? I was the one attacked!" she exclaimed.

Miri arched a brow at her, but that was all.

"Oh please," she said, then brushed imaginary dust from her sleeve. "We are not as stupid as you think. His Majesty's sanctions will only protect you should we submit them on your behalf —or have you forgotten the chain of command?"

Miri watched the arrogance flee Talia's expression so swiftly her very complexion paled. Her eyes widened in reaction to the threat, her bloodied mouth gaping open.

"Lord Leche would never—"

"And what do you know of what Lord Leche would do?" Miri cut her off, her posture gaining an air of hauteur as the tables quickly turned. "I have known him since the day he was born," she went on. "He would never do anything that would compromise His Highness, least of all for your sake." The surety in her words cut into what remained of Talia's bravado, her brow twitching with worry and doubt. "What? Did you think you could use His Highness's condition to your benefit and, if all else failed, you could still save yourself by blaming him?"

Talia's lack of response was response enough. Miri sighed and shook her head again.

"You should not have been brought here in the first place," she muttered disparagingly. "I warned them you would not possess the proper discretion…"

The passion in Miri's beretting puttered out with that and she glanced down pensively. Talia closed her mouth and gulped, standing a little straighter before quietly asking, "...what's going to happen to me?"

Miri inhaled and exhaled, her next words dismissive.

"Your fate is up to the mistress."

Talia drew back with a scowl.

"What? You can't be serious."

"I am perfectly serious, Talia," Miri snapped back. "You may have zero acknowledgement of her rank, but it exists nonetheless. As his betrothed, it is her right to issue judgment when the Prince is otherwise incapable. …Or would you prefer to be dealt with by His Highness himself?" She paused to allow Talia to retort, but surprisingly she didn't. The girl merely stewed in brooding silence as she resumed glaring out her peripheral. Miri felt the urge to carry on but, for as upset as she was, a part of her still felt pity towards her.

Talia carried herself well, but the way she subtly braced the left side of her ribs was unmistakable. She was hurt. Miri frowned as her anger settled. Yes…she should not have been brought there to begin with.

"Miss Williams seems like a kind soul, but I do hope…for your own sake, that you didn't do anything to offend her directly," Miri went on in a more neutral tone. Talia flinched. Well, tensed, really. Still, for as minute as it was, it was a telling gesture that did not require any other confirmation. Miri felt a sudden somberness wash over her as a connection was made. Merek had told her that it was Sarah who crossed paths with the two of them, and yet it was Sarah who was found alone with him —which would mean…that Talia left her there.

"By gods, Talia…" Miri muttered, reaching up to hold her forehead. "Your ambition is as callous as the rest of you."

The disappointment, not anger, conveyed in those words was palpable and dealt an even greater impact. Talia watched Miri silently as she started walking away from her, just shaking her head.

"Do not expect leniency for this," Miri said as she opened the door. "You've done your nation a profound disservice."

---

Miri thought over her conversation with Talia as she examined the troubled look on Sarah's face, the young girl clearly wading through ambivalence over how to respond. She could sense tension about her which she understood completely. A few quiet seconds passed in which neither said anything, and then Miri took it upon herself to provide some assurance.

"Talia's actions today are deeply reprehensible to multiple degrees," she said. Sarah glanced over at her. "She endangered herself, His Highness, and also you. She either manipulated or disregarded his present state and furthered his affliction. So please, if you're perhaps feeling worried for her, then—"

Sarah's brow furrowed tightly together and she drew back in her seat.

"Furthered it?" she repeated, cutting Miri off whilst ignoring everything else she'd said. "You mean it's worse now?"

Miri paused and redirected, staring Sarah hard in the eye while exhaling through her nose.

"Yes. Every fit makes his overall condition worse, Mistress," she explained. Sarah frowned. "That is why we do our best and go to such great lengths to prevent them from happening. It is less for our own benefit and safety than his." She paused again to observe Sarah and the curious way she looked down into her lap. She was saddened now. Miri continued on with some reservation "...despite the circumstances, he is still our prince and the only heir to the throne. Any action of detriment to his health is considered with the highest severity. And that is why…when the time comes, she may very well be charged with conspiracy and treason —the punishment for which being death."

Sarah's attention shot up from her knotting hands.

"What? Really?" she asked, aghast. Miri nodded.

"Yes. Should you will it."

Sarah's expression twisted with confusion.

"Wh…what do I have to do with it?"

"Forgive my candor, Mistress, but I want to make sure that you know your own rights given the…peculiar terms Lord Leche has restricted us to in matters involving you," she said, using a taciturn tone to mask her annoyance. Her face was not as successful, however. The old woman looked downright irritated by her own mention of Lochlan. "I don't know if you have yet been informed, but in instances where His Highness is deemed incompetent, you as his wife are the commanding authority here," she explained. Sarah's eyes widened. "And, as such, any judgements for crimes committed within the bounds of this principality are to be issued by you."

Miri spoke those words as if they were imperative. Sarah eased back in her chair, perturbed by it.

"But…we're not actually married yet," she said, feeling suddenly uncomfortable with having that kind of responsibility. Miri glanced away dismissively.

"A definite technicality."

Sarah pursed her lips and fisted her hands under the table.

"But what about Lochlan? I thought he was the governing figure here?"

Miri nodded, but it seemed like an empty gesture.

"He may be, but keep in mind that he is a mere retainer —just another servant in His Majesty's eyes. With your marriage to the prince, even without a coronation, your rank becomes higher than his." and she locked her eyes on Sarah's sternly from across the table. "Do not forget that, Mistress. Ever."

Sarah sat in a quagmire, wading through information and accompanying epiphanies that she was not prepared for at present. Her mouth hung open as her eyes shifted awkwardly, and then she composed herself. She sat tall in her seat and returned Miri's staunch gaze.

"I won't," she said. "...and thank you for telling me."

Miri lowered her eyes.

"Of course. It's unfortunate such a conversation needs to be had at all, but here we are. That said, you're welcome to render your verdict whenever you wish."

Sarah's toes curled in her flats. Was she really being asked to issue Talia's death sentence right now?

"I'm….going to need some time," she said stiffly. Miri nodded.

"Understandably."

Another heavy silence threatened to worm its way in, but the accompanying awkwardness was not something Sarah wanted. Hoping to get away from the topic as quickly as possible, Sarah scooted forward in her chair, sucking in her lip worriedly before asking,

"Um…speaking of his health, are you able to tell me what's happening to the Prince? Do you know where Merek and Lochlan have taken him?"

Sarah thought there was a hint of skepticism in the way Miri regarded her just then, and she prayed to fucking God that the woman wouldn't hold out on her now. Perhaps she could see the desperation in Sarah's eyes, for quite readily Miri replied with,

"They are in the dungeons."

Sarah blinked repeatedly.

"Oh? Why?" she asked.

"It is where the Prince goes when he becomes unmanageable," she said, then briefly averted her eyes. "The warding there is…particular."

Sarah's brow knitted in the center, her mouth a frown.

"What happens there?" she asked, but Miri shook her head.

"I don't know," she said, genuinely. "Whatever happens in the dungeons is privy to only the three of them."

Sarah nearly deflated in her seat, worry and anxiety the only things left to keep her back straightened. Her frown worsened when she asked,

"But…he'll be okay, right? He'll go back to normal…eventually?"

Normal. Miri wondered what she meant by that, but did not ask. Instead her expression softened on her, although that was not exactly reassuring for Sarah. Sarah watched her purse her lips together to negate a frown, her brow turning down when she humbly replied,

"We do hope."

---

The next morning Sarah was treated to, what she was emphatically told was, a platter of teff pancakes with sweet dukkah and apple and pear compote. Sarah had never even heard of the words teff and dukkah, let alone seen them layered together under a glaze so sticky and decadent it was downright sexual. Her fork and knife penetrated it nonetheless, and she sampled bite after silent bite under the surprisingly comforting assurance that not even a situation as shitty as this could temper the taste of Cedric's delicious cooking.

She frowned as she ate. Despite the joy enveloping her taste buds, every other part of Sarah's being was absolutely miserable. It was now 9 am and she still had gotten no word on Jareth's condition. She had no idea where he was, how he was, what he was doing or what was being done to him. Lochlan and Merek were awol and no one had any insights.

They assured her all would be well, that this was typical and par for the course, that she shouldn't get too worked up but—oh, it's so sweet how much she cares for him, isn't it?! And who was she quoting there, exactly? Why her dutiful babysitters of course.

Miri left soon after their conversation came to its natural end the previous day, leaving Sarah to once again wonder what the fuck she was supposed to do with herself and all her scattered pieces. Whether or not she was satisfied with the answer she was given, however, was still up in the air. After about an hour, another knock had come at her door and she was greatly surprised by the act of surely divine intervention that placed four near-terror stricken maids before her doorway just jittering to be let in. She ushered them in immediately and with a warm welcome, of course…

Despite Sarah's frigidity towards them, the company of Sirene, Greta, Arlyn, and June had never been more positive. They stayed with her for the remainder of the day and even most of the night. At first, she was not sure if they had been ordered to do so or if it was of their own will. Regardless, Sarah could not rightly describe the intensity of the awkwardness she harbored as she struggled to figure out what exactly they wanted and what she was supposed to do to entertain them; but after a while she realized the answer to both was nothing.

They were just…there. With her. And for some reason, Sarah found that deeply off-putting. She watched them each make themselves at home in her bedroom, eating her food and drinking her booze and messing up her pillows like they'd done so a hundred times over. Like they were people she knew. Like friends. Initially that gross display of familiarity grated Sarah, but after some time she actually found it…comforting.

A somber setting loomed over them all, and it was clear that all their banter and tall tales and boisterous laughter was meant, in its entirety, to fill her full of distraction —but even knowing that, even knowing it was a pretense, as the conversation and company slowly whittled away the ice around her nerves, she actually —for just a moment— forgot why they were there with her.

They did not talk about Jareth —at least not initially— and they didn't even alluded to Talia's existence nor obvious absence even once. And honestly that was fine. The last thing she wanted was for everyone to know her business and, as far as she was concerned, it was in Talia's best interest to simply not exist for the time being.

At one point, however, the awkwardness got to her and she asked them what they knew about Jareth, if they knew how he was doing and how long it would be until…until something else happened.

Their responses shocked her.

They started by assuring her that everything would be okay and not to be too worried, as aforementioned. They also said fits like this are not infrequent and that it was routine for them to gather together on days when His Highness was contained —so that they may think positively and support him, and pray for his recovery together. That was why they were there, to include her. They let her know that they had experienced level two lockdowns many times before and, while it was always nerve wracking, she should never feel disheartened or unsafe. Lord Leche and the Captain were well adept at their jobs, and His Highness always recovered. They smiled at her. All of them. And Sarah could tell…that their optimism was genuine. She did not know what to say in response. All that time, she'd avoided them because she thought fear was the only thing they felt towards him. She thought their interest was more in their own gain than his well-being —excluding Sirene, at least— but it seemed that wasn't quite true, and that knowledge was more consoling than could be stated.

Time passed by easier after that. Sarah actually relaxed and laughed with them. As the day wore on, their camaraderie made Sarah feel practically obligated to let down the remainder of her defenses. Insufferable and high maintenance though they may be, they were determined and they were there for her.

Like friends.

Like real, genuine friends.

With that said, Sarah was still exhausted by the time they left, her eyes turning vacant and her stance wobbly as she kindly ushered them out the door. She got the suspicion that they had kept her engaged so incessantly on purpose. They'd worn her out to keep her from fretting into the night. She appreciated that, too, and actually gave them real smiles as she said goodnight. She was surprised when Greta gave her a hug, too tired to conceal her gape from Sirene who passed by last. Sirene gave her a soft, canny smile in response and squeezed her gently on the arm. When things calmed down, Sarah considered having another conversation with her —but not tonight. She just didn't have it in her.

Sarah closed the door behind them then turned back to face her empty room. It was a mess, but again she supposed they wanted it that way. Her shoulders sagged in a moment of relief. The clutter was also…a comfort. A sign that she wasn't alone. For that reason, she left it be and went straight to bed. She had a feeling sleep would not come easy regardless and hoped, dreamed even, that someone would roughly wake her not two minutes later and tell her that everything was indeed alright.

But that never happened. No, no matter her tossing and turning, there was nothing at all to disturb her. She woke alone and with a deep headache, practically dragging herself to the shower only to sit, curled up in a ball under it. While the distractions were appreciated, they were superficial remedies at best and had no bearing on her rampant conscience left to its own devices. She readied herself all while nursing an anxious weight in her chest, wondering and wondering why no one had yet come to her.

Her stomach turned over when she ordered breakfast, certain she wouldn't be able to eat it. But, when that tray finally arrived and her mouth actually watered at the sight of it, she knew that she had at least one consistency in her life.

She'd have to give Cedric a hug or something for this. His ridiculously fancy pastries were the only thing binding her sanity.

She did what she could to savor every bite, closing her eyes and meditating to the best of her ability. Not long after was she rewarded with a gentle knock on her door that was so out of place that it might as well have been a fog horn. Sarah practically jumped in her seat, her spazzy hand sending her fork clattering loudly to the plate.

"Jesus—" she muttered under her breath, hair prickling the back of her neck as she turned in her seat to face the door.

"No, not today, unfortunately," answered Lochlan from the hallway. "Just me. May I come in?"

Sarah pushed herself away from the dining table so fast her chair scraped loudly across the floor and made a b-line for the door, opening it with more determination than necessary and giving Lochlan —in all his asinine, always completely misplaced pleasantry— a little jolt. His eyes widened when he saw her, their gazes immediately locking and revealing all of her indomitable emotions clear as day.

He drew back a little. She looked like she was going to punch him.

"Um…Hi," he said.

Sarah gritted her teeth to the point of pain.

"Hi?" she repeated, then glared. "Hi, my ass! Where the hell have you been? I haven't heard a goddamn thing all night. What took you so long?!"

She looked vehement. Yes, that was the most appropriate word, Lochlan determined. His face got a little twisted as he bit something back.

"Perhaps…we should sit down?" he suggested, arching a brow and casting an eye past her at the dining table. Sarah huffed and straightened her back, her head shaking incredulously as she took a compulsive step out of the doorway.

"By all means, let's."

She continued shaking her head like a madwoman and practically stomped back to the table. Lochlan evaluated her discreetly while closing the door behind himself, and then joined her at the table. She plopped herself back down on her chair. Lochlan took the one opposite her a bit more tactfully.

He took a moment to eye her food.

"Well, I'm glad to see you're eating—"

"Lochlan."

Sarah cut him off with a deadpan stare that was cold enough to slice right through him. From her tone of voice, he figured she might even be imagining such a scenario. His eyes averted as he reaffirmed his posture, feigning passivity when they fell back on her.

"Yes, Sarah?" he asked.

Sarah blinked. The urge to pick up her fork and stab him was dangerously compelling.

"Where. Have. You. Been?" she asked slowly, oh-so-slowly.

"In the dungeons," he replied, then scrunched his brow at her. "I thought Miri had told you that already?"

Sarah blinked again. Slowly. Oh. So. Slowly.

"She did," she stated, then took a breath. "I guess what I meant to say is, please explain to me what the fuck happened yesterday and how you dealt with it." She paused to exhale, hanging on by her last nerve. "If you could also tell me how Jareth is doing, that would be mighty swell too."

"Ah," Lochlan replied, then shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "Well…let's see…where to begin…" Sarah eyed his every twitch like a hawk, noticing that —despite the mayhem and destruction— he looked as put together as ever. "We were able to get him contained. I'm sure that's your most prevalent concern."

Sarah let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. In fact, it had her so tense that she physically deflated in the shoulders.

"Yes, but what does that mean, contained? Is he…okay? Is he back to normal or…still like that?"

Lochlan's expression tightened. Sarah had no idea what to make of it.

"He is…better…arguably."

Sarah frowned.

"Explain?"

Lochlan took a deep breath and shifted again, adjusting the lapel of his coat as he did so. Sarah's frown only worsened.

"He is recuperating," he said, then looked her in the eye again. "He was able to come out of the event and, yes, that is very good. However, as I told you before, it takes a great deal out of him. He'll need time."

"Time…?" Sarah muttered, ambivalent over whether or not to feel relieved or even more worried. "But he's…he's okay, yeah? He's not…manic anymore, or blood thirsty, or hurt?" and then she winced. "Those spears…they looked like they'd stabbed him."

Lochlan's expression softened —just a touch.

"The wounds you saw are…not as they seem. They are more of a…metaphysical nature. He also heals very quickly," he said, although her scowl let him know that he was explaining poorly. He paused and redirected. "To put it plainly, he was not literally stabbed. The worst physical injury he's suffering now is fatigue."

Again, relief came. And again, Sarah was unsure whether or not to accept it. Her scowl remained.

"What happens in the dungeons?" she asked, point blank. "How is he contained? How does he come out of those fits? Why does it take such a toll on him? How are you and Merek involved?"

Lochlan stared her in the eye as he openly debated whether and how to answer her. When he was decided, he straightened up a little further.

"The dungeons…" he began, his eyes roaming low as his voice trailed off pensively. "The dungeons are specially enchanted. It is a large, open, fortified space where Jareth may…experiment…without putting the rest of the castle in danger." His right index and middle finger lightly tapped the tabletop as he spoke. Sarah's attention shifted between that and his face.

"Experiment…you're talking about his research? His pursuit to cure himself?"

Lochlan's hand paused mid tap, and he nodded.

"So he…" Sarah continued but quickly got fed up and shook her head. "I don't understand. Please stop being so cryptic and just tell me."

She had both hands out on the table now, wielding tight fists and a desperate look in her eyes. Lochlan frowned as he regarded her, though the corners of his mouth remained just as tense.

"There are…rituals —magic meant to subdue his more…well…aberrant magic."

Lochlan spoke that slowly, guardedly. Even now, under the circumstances, with what she'd seen, he was still holding back. It was enough to make Sarah rip her own hair out.

"And it worked?" she asked. Lochlan averted his eyes briefly.

"It worked well enough —as it always does." And then he looked at her again. "If the spells worked as intended, then none of us would be here."

Sarah didn't respond right away, feeling something somber rise up and ease her back in her seat. Her scowl fell to a frown and the pressure in her fists turned limp.

"So…the ritual…it's like a band-aid?" she asked. Lochlan was grateful he knew what that was.

"Yes. That is a good simile for it."

Sarah's scowl endured.

"What…what do you and Merek have to do with it? Do you help him, or…?"

"No," Lochlan said, decisively. "Neither Merek nor I enter the ritual chamber. Our prerogative is merely to get him inside of it and then make sure he cannot leave until…"

A pause.

"Until his aberrant magic is subdued?" she asked.

Lochlan nodded again but was quiet, perhaps regretting his own phrasing. He was not comfortable disclosing this to her, although he knew it was about time. He felt conflicted. Jareth had demeaned her and had even attempted to kill her, and yet her sole concern was for his well being? He almost…couldn't believe it.

"I see…" Sarah mumbled, glancing downward in thought. "How long ago was that? Was he going through it all night? Were you down there until just now?"

"No," Lochlan answered. "He came out of it in the early hours of morning."

Sarah's eyes widened.

"Wh-well why didn't you come see me sooner then?" she asked, moving to the edge of her seat. "I was up waiting all night and didn't get a single update, so I didn't know—"

"Sarah." This time it was Lochlan who cut her off. "Sarah, Sarah, relax." and he raised a calming hand. "For your information, I did come to you immediately afterwards," he said, to her visible surprise. "But you were already asleep."

She gaped like she didn't believe him but did sit back down in her seat. Lochlan exhaled through his nose, lips pursed together before continuing.

"I figured you'd been up waiting so, given that the danger had passed, I decided it was better to let you rest and come to you later in the morning." Again he spoke with that slow cadence, making strict eye contact with her like she was a wild animal. Truth be told, she didn't blame him. She imagined the faces she'd been making were something fierce.

After taking a second or two to process what he'd said, Sarah felt herself finally give in to the tug of relief.

"Okay. That's fair," she said, then sighed. "So what…does his recovery entail, exactly? Is he still considered dangerous? Do I need to stay away?"

Lochlan's brow furrowed reflexively.

"You still want to go see him?"

Sarah's head cocked sharply.

"Did you think I wouldn't?" she retorted. His expression was self-evident. Sarah huffed. "Seriously, Lochlan? No, seriously. After what I saw? Fuck almighty, yes! Yes, I want to see him!" She was not shouting, but there was a definite rise in her voice. Lochlan observed stoically, which was an unusual response for him. She was ready to scoff and lecture him six ways to Sunday, but she held back at the last second. Beneath her anxiety and zeal a tiny voice whispered, but does he want to see me?

She checked herself and reined it in, looking down at the table again as if defeated.

"But…should I wait? Is it wise to bother him right now? What should I do?" and she looked up at Lochlan pleadingly. "What happens now, Lochlan?"

She watched his brow turn down as he looked at her, his deep green eyes too bright and too clear. She could practically see her own pitiful reflection looking back at her.

"He will be tired," Lochlan said softly. "Physically and…spiritually. The red is gone, which means the open event is complete. He is…what we can consider stable, for now. It's up to you whether or not to seek him out now or later. I won't stop you."

And she could feel that he meant it. She didn't understand why everyone was giving her free rein.

"...even at the risk of relapse?" she asked skeptically. Lochlan tried not to sigh.

"That is a constant possibility, Sarah. It's moot at this point," he said, rolling his eyes away and looking suddenly tired when he looked back at her. "Please understand…this is not the first time this has happened." and, somehow, she felt that tiredness reach deep into his soul—maybe by the way his bright eyes seemed to dim when he said, "It's not even the hundredth."

Silence broke the conversation and it was strong enough to endure for several seconds. Sarah felt the weight of it build on her shoulders as she stared down at the table. She tried to imagine a day like yesterday happening not once, not twice, but over and over and over so often that the mania, the fallout, the suffering, all of it, became so minuscule, so candid, so systematically dealt with that the people…the people there were practically numb to it.

Sarah wasn't sure how to feel as she sat under Lochlan's idle gaze. The roof had literally fallen on top of them yesterday. He'd been up all night doing…something…and yet here he was, looking perfectly dapper. Not a hair out of place.

Lochlan got the feeling her introspection might be getting the better or her and glanced down as well, gripping his hands and quickly releasing them when he said,

"I told you that these instances sometimes happen at random. Well, to be honest…they're now happening more randomly. It's obviously good to avoid triggers but…that doesn't mean that all the precaution in the world will stop it from happening. So, in my mind, it seems pointless to avoid him. At least by being with him there stands a chance to do something constructive…rather than resigning oneself of any effort and doing nothing at all."

Sarah frowned at the table, although she nodded in agreement.

"I thought I could do something constructive," she said sullenly. "Turns out I was wrong. Everything I said just made the situation worse."

"Yes…I never said it would be easy," Lochlan said, pondering his next words. "Merek told me you were okay, but I want to ask you myself. When I found the two of you, you were...rather compromised. Is there anything you'd like to discuss? Something that…might have happened?" Sarah peered up to find him already staring at her. "If you're not comfortable speaking with me, then…with someone?"

Sarah frowned again, but not for the reason Lochlan thought. Apparently he hadn't checked in with Miri yet. He was actually surprised when she said, with perfect frankness, "He didn't do anything." She made sure, through the lock of their stares, that he believed her before continuing. "I mean…he might have. You interrupted, so I don't know what he was going to do next. I was...trying to get through to him and it…just wasn't working."

She looked away again by the end and even reached up to pinch the bridge of her nose. Lochlan exhaled subtly, glad she hadn't been harmed.

"Don't feel bad," he said. She glanced over. "By the time I was notified, he was already within the upper threshold of a level two. I don't think anything you did or said at that point would have affected him the way you wanted."

Sarah leaned up and lowered her hand slowly, disheartened.

"So he was a lost cause then?" she asked. Lochlan shook his head.

"No. We simply…haven't figured out what he needs to come out of it yet —without magical intervention, I mean," he tried to explain. "Perhaps…through your unique relationship…you can discover means that I am simply incapable of," he suggested. Sarah quirked a quizzical brow. "I have known Jareth since we were boys," he went on with a stiff shrug. "I know everything about him. But…you are a woman. You possess the faculty to know those things…in a different way."

There was a bit of suggestion in his eye that Sarah was hardly convinced by. She was starting to lose faith that she held any sway over Jareth at all. She knew that he was, on a base level, attracted to her —but that didn't necessarily mean anything. The fact that for the last three weeks she'd been pushing and pushing and pushing against a brick wall of stoicism while only getting a regret filled make-out or two for her troubles was surely a sign that she was not succeeding in making any real progress with him. Was she missing something? Was there a better way? Something she could do differently? She just didn't know.

"Yesterday…he seemed different somehow," she said, her tone vacant. "The other times I saw him worked up…it was like he was fighting something. Like he was in pain. But yesterday…he wasn't fighting at all. Not until the very end, anyway."

"Oh?" Lochlan replied.

"I feel like…when he's like that…when it seems like he's not fighting…" and the memories replayed vividly behind her eyes. "...I think that's when he's actually in the most pain." and she scowled hard at the tabletop. "He's so afraid of losing control. I can't imagine being like that —being aware of it— and not being able to do anything about it."

She wondered what he'd felt at the end, wondered what those tears had meant and why he seemed ignorant of them. Was it pain? Was it a mere physical reaction? Or…something else?

"I've been wondering…" Sarah went on. "If his state was so bad yesterday, why didn't the sentinels intervene sooner? I thought they were supposed to sense danger and react before anyone could get hurt? Talia…looked like she'd been beaten up pretty good when I got there."

Her lip curled back a little at the mention of Talia's name, but there was nothing for it. She supposed the fact that she'd asked someone to tend to her made her a good person after all but, given the resentment she was holding, she wasn't so sure. She even had the power to act on that resentment —to be cruel and careless just like Jareth…

"It's about consent."

Sarah was thankful Lochlan had interrupted her rumination and blinked at him attentively.

"The sentinels…are linked to Jareth directly," he went on, none the wiser. "They are….extensions of his magic, per-say. That is how they are able to gauge the fluctuations within him. The state of our magic reflects our souls...our mind…our very being, you could say." And then he glanced away, his brow lifting high as an intrusive memory passed by. "However…when we first instituted the sentinels, we learned that allowing them to operate by a hair trigger often made situations worse. There are variables within an organic interaction to consider beyond simply Jareth's mood."

He was explaining himself articulately, but Sarah wasn't sure she fully grasped what he was getting at. She encouraged him to elaborate further.

"Could you put that in simpler terms?" she asked. Lochlan inhaled through his nose.

"Yes, I suppose I can. Essentially, the sentinels did not stop Jareth from injuring Talia yesterday because she did not want them to."

Sarah's brow twitched in puzzlement. Lochlan went on further.

"Not only are they attuned to his emotional changes but also those of the people he engages with. That person's level of fear or lack thereof is typically the stronger factor when deciding whether or not to intervene."

"And that works out better?" Sarah asked skeptically. Lochlan nodded.

"Absolutely. Despite their smooth tenors, the sentinels are not sentient, and no manner of magic can replicate the mind's intuition. Just because Jareth may want to do something bad doesn't mean that he will. He can still be reasoned with. We've found it's much better to push our limits in order to calm him down naturally rather than resorting to magical means."

Sarah subtly nodded along as Lochlan spoke, starting to feel a little better that she hadn't immediately called for his help. She agreed with what he was saying, having already been dead set on pushing beyond her limits.

"And that's why…they didn't come between us, either? Even…on the stairs?" she asked, just for clarity. Lochlan nodded again.

"Exactly. You just said you were trying to bring him out of it, right? You possessed confidence and hope rather than fear. The sentinels knew that and allowed you agency over the situation, regardless of his intentions or if there was any physical pain. If you were truly trying to escape, however, they would have sensed it and rescued you immediately."

Sarah gnawed on her lip, deep in thought over all this.

"So that means he can still hurt me…if I let him?"

There was an interesting upturn at the tail end of her question. Lochlan wondered what it was she was presently thinking.

"Yes," he answered. "He can."

Then she looked up at him, eyes direct and brows furrowed.

"Then why did they intervene at the end?" she asked. "That attack was so fast I didn't even have time to be afraid."

"I told you before. Under certain conditions the sentinels will react automatically despite any other factors —like when his power level exceeds the allocated threshold or when casting spells with the intention to kill…for instance."

His voice quietened at the end, perhaps by a sense of awkwardness at addressing one of the several elephants in the room. Sarah did not reply right away, merely sitting stiffly as the implications set in. That's right. The ring had activated —and apparently it was not biased like the sentinels. She knew from that alone that there was nefarious magic afoot. She supposed she still just didn't want to believe that he actually...wanted to hurt her.

Sarah frowned and then leaned back in her seat.

"Okay…I get it," she said, her voice small as she twisted the ring around her finger.

"Good," Lochlan said, eyes fixed to her every mannerism. "I have to admit that I've been in contention over whether or not to explain this to you, or at least over when."

Sarah looked at him confusedly.

"Why? I feel like I should have known all of this from the very beginning."

Lochlan's eyes averted like he'd expected as much, his compulsive nod merely humoring her.

"Well, consider your personality for a moment, Sarah, then try to put yourself in my shoes," he said. Sarah drew back— "As you've now seen, a person can get themselves into a great deal of trouble with or without that awareness, both unintentionally...and intentionally. I've perceived you as being very….well…aggressive. It was not beyond me that you are someone who might purposefully push those boundaries too far until you found yourself in a situation very much out of your control."

Sarah arched a brow at him.

"So you think I'd fare better in ignorance?" she asked. Lochlan gave her a sympathetic shrug.

"I'm saying I don't know. I hadn't decided. I suppose that means the risk was the same."

Sarah tried not to grumble, her petulance just strong enough to incite the crossing of arms. She glared at him a little in discontent but could not bring herself to refute him. He was right. She'd pushed several times already, but had she known she actually had control over her own safety net? Well, obviously she would have pushed even more. It was just in her nature.

And that's when the subtext hit.

"Then, by that logic, whatever happened between him and Talia…was her intention? She let him escalate?"

Lochlan's jaw was tightened when replying,

"Yes."

Sarah shook her head angrily.

"...why?" she asked, confounded. "Miri said she may have used his vulnerability against him —so does that mean she manipulated him to do…something? Because of the open event? Why would she do that?"

Lochlan quirked a brow.

"Is that a rhetorical question?" he asked.

Sarah sneered at the way he smirked at her, but did not respond to him with words. Instead her stare alone was enough motivation to get him to answer her questions. Lochlan exhaled and shifted in his seat.

"Sarah…she took advantage of the open event because Jareth never would have given her the time of day otherwise," he said, dismissively almost. "We've told you that he avoids everyone."

Sarah huffed and recrossed her arms, pettiness getting the better of her in more ways than she wanted to admit.

"So, what? She tried making a last ditch grab for the crown before we're married? Seriously? I don't understand. Did her plan go wrong or did she actually want him to hurt her? " she asked deridingly. Lochlan merely shrugged again.

"A bit of both, I assume?" he half-asked, half-answered. Sarah scowled.

"Why?"

Lochlan averted his eyes.

"She is not bred of nobility as the rest of us are," he said like that alone would explain it all. "I suppose one could say the risks did not matter for the only place she has to go is up."

Sarah was glaring. Her little mouth twisted all up.

"Yeah. Her head, anyway," she shot back, tapping her bicep restlessly "—on a pike."

Lochlan quirked a brow. My, that was not something he expected to come snapping out of her mouth.

His moment of surprise gave her bitterness an opportunity to fester which had her straightening up and unfolding her arms, tension forming in her upper lip.

"Miri told me that the verdict against Talia's bad behavior is my decision," she said, locking eyes with him intently. Lochlan wondered why she was suddenly trying to form a power play.

"Yes," he plainly agreed. "That is very true."

Sarah tested him by the quick narrowing of her eyes, her obvious skepticism raking all over him. Lochlan sat idly under it, insufferably so until she broke that line of contact and leaned away.

"Hm. I'm surprised you're being so yielding," she said. Lochlan eased back in his chair, a breezy contrast to her scrutiny.

"On the contrary, that is actually one of the things I wanted to talk with you about today," he said, then tilted his head while raising his brows at her. "I want to ensure that you understand what's happened as well as your various options for dealing with it. I think you're aware of the dynamics here, yes?"

Sarah let down some of her guard —though the petulance remained.

"Kind of…you're welcome to explain it again, though," she said.

"The maids are brought here to service him," Lochlan began —well aware of the conversation she'd had with Sirene. "Truthfully they are concubines; we simply allow them the dignity of referring to their positions as maids. That said, you know that no one has any intention of seeing that through. In order to avoid instances like what happened with Avana and likewise yesterday with Talia, the women living here operate under strict regulations. They are not permitted to travel alone, anywhere, for any reason. If they happen to cross paths with Jareth, they are meant to immediately leave and, under no circumstances, interact with him." He paused for effect, the index finger of the hand he kept casually laid on the table tapping it twice. "You can see why they were all shocked when you freely invited him to our garden party."

He raised a brow at her playfully, but she was hardly amused. He let the quip go and moved on.

"It's come to my attention that Talia has been breaking the foremost rule for many years now—sneaking off and such. The other girls believed it was to meet with another resident, but it has also come to light that that is not quite true."

Oh? Was Emet innocent all along? Sarah wondered, her regard of him increasing by ten whole points. Still, it was not enough to placate her. She crossed her legs as well as she stared at Lochlan.

"You did an awful lot of investigating for someone who's been busy in the dungeons for the last eighteen hours," she said. Lochlan tried not to sigh.

"The sentinels' secondary function is to observe," he said, pulling his hand from the table back to his lap. "It does not take much to gather any number of truths from them." And then he got back on track. "I have not spoken to her myself, but Talia was also presumably aware of Jareth's state yesterday. There is no excuse. She should have left the moment she saw him."

While Sarah did not disagree with any of that, something wasn't sitting right with her.

"...and yet you just said it's fine for me?" she said, quirking a brow. "That's a bit of a double standard, isn't it? You're telling me to condemn someone to death for doing the same exact shit I've been doing all along—"

"Untrue."

Sarah paused. He'd said that so decisively.

"How?" she countered.

"Firstly, I'm not telling you to sentence her to death, although it is a justifiable option," Lochlan said, erecting one finger astutely in the air and then another. "And second, there are innumerable differences between not only you and Talia, but you and every single other person on this island. Do not belittle yourself."

Sarah's countenance fell from annoyance to deadpan.

"Oh? You're gonna have to fluff me up a bit here, Lochlan, because I don't see what you're getting at."

Lochlan smirked.

"Your demeanor," he said, a grin stretching outward as it formed the word. "You don't fear him. You don't judge him. You don't seem to want anything and you certainly don't put yourself first. I saw you yesterday. He was poised to strike us dead and you were actually considering going towards him." Her eyes widened fractionally like she'd been caught—it was enough to give his growing smile free rein. "What would you have done had I not stopped you? Given him a hug?" he asked her teasingly. Sarah tensed up in reaction. Delightful.

"Just look at yourself right now," he went on, extending a hand in her direction. "You have outrage. You defend him —even when you're upset, even when he's sinned against you. That kind of passion faded from the lot of us a long time ago."

Sarah did not respond but neither did he wait for her to. Lochlan exhaled deeply as he relaxed, pulling on the cuffs of his jacket to release the tension.

"I keep encouraging you to interact with him while discouraging others not because of any hypocrisy on my end," he said, then peered over at her pointedly. "—but because of how he responds. He never wanted any of them here, and yet he chose you. He has pledged himself to you. Do not take that lightly."

He was intending that statement to reassure her, but it didn't. He watched the corners of her brows sag in further uncertainty —and then he remembered she was not one of them. Of course she wouldn't comprehend.

Lochlan sighed softly and lowered his eyes.

"Given the rules I've previously stated, whether or not it was intentional, Talia negligently triggered an uprise in event. You can consider that akin to an assault. Given that Jareth is the sole heir to a nation, that upgrades her offense to the highest caliber," he explained, back to business. "You could convict her of treason. You could sentence her to death or any number of horrific punishments. Or…" and his eyes roamed away coyly. "...you could not."

Sarah blinked questioningly, her brow drawing hard again. Lochlan leaned forward over the table.

"Keep in mind…if this instance should be officially recorded, word of it will get back to His Majesty," he said, giving the tabletop a downward tap. "The King will learn that his son has once again brutalized a civilian —and trust me, the reason behind it will not matter to him. He will only see that his son is becoming more unmanageable."

Now that got a reaction from her.

"And?" Sarah asked. Lochlan bobbed his head.

"And...he may feel compelled to make more desperate decisions than simply marrying him off to a titleless human." He turned his hand up at the end, shrugging as he leaned back into place. "I was not lying to you on the journey here. There is political turmoil surrounding His Majesty on the mainland. The lingering hope poised in Jareth's recovery is the only thing keeping it from igniting."

Sarah's eyes lowered. Oh…she'd completely forgotten about that aspect of the situation. That complicated her violent impulses a bit. Now she had no idea what to do.

Lochlan spoke up before her conviction had the chance to fully waver.

"As I said, I won't tell you what to do," he said, calling her attention. She peered up at him readily. "However Talia is dealt with will be up to you. You are welcome to commute her service here and send her away on the next ferry, or you can order her head to roll in the town square."

Sarah drew her brow on him, perturbed by the passivity in his tone.

"And you…have no personal feelings on that?" she asked. Lochlan averted his eyes briefly.

"Not really, no."

And he really didn't. She could glean that truth readily from his posture alone. Sarah wasn't sure how to feel about that kind of candid apathy but decided it was best to simply accept it for now.

"Got it," she said, shifting her eyes awkwardly to the side. Lochlan took her response at face value and perked up in his seat.

"Good. I'm glad we were able to get all of that out of the way," he said, chipperly, then pushed back in the chair. "On that lovely note, I have something for you."

Sarah blinked and then peered over the table, watching in confusion as he leaned down to grab something out from under it. He hadn't…brought anything with him, had he?

"I've been wanting to give this to you for a while now, but the enchantment takes time. I only just finished it yesterday...before the disruption."

Sarah sat her butt down in her chair when he pulled forth a large, silver saucer from the bewildering depths of nowhere, taking it in both hands and then setting it out on the table.

Sarah's eyes flickered from him to it.

"Ah...what is it?" she asked. Lochlan smiled.

"A scryer's well."

She blinked and, for a split second, pretended she knew what that was —and then it clicked. She sat up to the edge of her seat again.

"Wait, you mean the thing you told me about before?" she asked, a sense of curiosity replacing her caution. "A way…to check in on my family?"

Lochlan nodded, gripping the rim of the bowl firmly.

"Yes," he answered triumphantly. "Given the circumstances, I thought now would be as good a time as any to pass it along."

Sarah looked down at the bowl, blinking and frowning as she inspected it. To her it was just a bowl. It was large, maybe eighteen inches in diameter, and pretty deep too. The outside of it was a buff silver while the inside was practically mirrored, patterned welts disrupting the reflective surface as if it'd been hammered into shape. Beyond that, there were no special embellishments, or any embellishment for that matter. Sarah's interest grew skeptical the more she studied it.

"How does it work? What can I even do with it?" she asked.

Lochlan cocked his head as he also stared into the well, shrugging a little.

"They can be used for a number of things, but for your intentions it will allow you to literally glimpse into their lives," he explained. Sarah's attention snapped up to him. "Imagine it like being a….specter over their shoulder. You'll be able to hear and see them, even feel what they're feeling to some extent —but not touch. they also won't be aware of your presence in return."

Sarah drew back and looked at the bowl again. Huh. A plain thing like that? Who'd have known it was so powerful? It was mighty unsuspecting.

"How long will it last?" she asked.

"A few minutes to start. With practice you'll be able to stay submerged longer."

And then she arched a brow.

"Submerged?" she repeated.

"Yes," Lochlan confirmed, then pulled the bowl back and lifted it. "You have to stick your head in it —like this," he said, making an ass of himself by literally sticking the bowl over his head. Sarah's brow lifted, but she didn't comment. He shrugged again when he removed it and set it back on the table. "Of course, it's not that simple."

Sarah blinked at him and his childlike innocence slowly.

"Clearly," she replied.

"First you'll have to fill it with water and place it under bright light," he went on, not missing a beat. "Given that you are human and do not possess inherent magic, you will need a facilitator to guide the enchantment, an…object related to the person or persons whom you're trying to connect with." And he raised a hand to twiddle his fingers for effect. "Just place it in the bowl and that should be enough."

"But…what if the water ruins whatever I put in there?" she asked, quickly recalling what few objects she'd brought from home and how all of them were water soluble. Lochlan shook his head assuredly.

"It won't. Trust me."

Sarah pursed her lips and hummed, still skeptical.

"So...I do all that and then just….stick my face in?" she asked with a wince. Lochlan both nodded and smiled.

"Yes."

The steady ambush of his good mood did not make any rational sense to her.

"And you think I can stay like that for several minutes without drowning?" she asked him. Lochlan stifled a laugh, shaking his head again.

"You won't drown," he said with a little twinkle in his eye. "Trust me."

"Alright…" Sarah muttered, hesitantly reaching out and then pulling back the bowl to her side of the table. She felt a little awkward now for some reason. "Um...thank you."

Lochlan beamed.

"You're welcome."

She rolled her eyes low.

"And also…for saving me," she added, then peered up. "It was pretty intense what you did —blocking his magic like that."

Lochlan all but huffed.

"Yes, well, it is my job."

Oh, but was that arrogance?

"I didn't think you were that strong," she said, frankly.

That time Lochlan did huff.

"Hmph. I believe I recall saying that I am not as strong as Jareth. That does not mean I'm weak," he answered defensively. Sarah held back a smirk of her own. "...true, without the sentinels there to incapacitate him, he would have blown us both to smithereens but, with that said, I take some offense," Lochlan went on, his pride getting the better of him. "I wouldn't be a very good retainer if I couldn't at least manage to, well, retain him."

Given his involvement in yesterday's affairs, Sarah conceded and let him have his moment…mostly.

"I guess that's true," she said, then averted her eyes. "Merek's spell looked stronger though."

Was she trying to push his buttons? Always.

Lochlan failed to take the bait, however, instead crossing his arms and looking to the side.

"I would certainly hope so," he said affirmatively. "Merek is an acclaimed veteran —whose magic proficiency, by the way, is ballistic defense and counterattack. I can't say he's the wisest match for the position here, but it's no secret that it was his technical skill, not his experience, that got him the job."

Sarah could see how that was true. To her, it seemed Merek was more interested in teasing the women than taking his role seriously —which was another thing that surprised her about yesterday. She wasn't expecting either of them to act with such decisiveness or severity.

"I don't think Jareth likes him," she said, voicing her thoughts as she recalled the moment Merek first appeared by her side. "He freaked right out after he showed up."

Lochlan exhaled, his eyes lowering in agreement.

"No. He doesn't," he said, glancing away. "He prefers the more resolute hand of General Fostad. He was always quick to take Jareth down. The man never hesitated for any reason, not even once." He paused when he caught a glimpse of Sarah furrowing her brow from his peripheral. "That bothers you?" he asked, looking over at her.

"Um…a little?" she replied. "You're talking about him like he's a wild animal."

"Hm…he's not," Lochlan said, pensively. "—but he can act like one."

Sarah frowned harder, unsure of what to say. Lochlan spoke for her.

"Don't forget what I told you," he went on. "Jareth is very much self aware. He does not want anyone to make excuses for him —least of all does he want to hurt the people around him simply because they were too preoccupied by either pity or fear to do what is actually in his best interest." and then he held back a sigh. "This wasn't his fault, Sarah. I know it may be hard to rely on that given the circumstances and…those involved…but it wasn't."

From the softer tone of his voice, Sarah gathered he was trying to convince her of that. He should be relieved to know she did not need such reassurances. She knew full well who was to blame.

"No…" she muttered quietly, more to herself than him. "From all that you've said, it was Talia's."

---

Talia sat silently in a chair in the corner of her room, arms crossed and eyes vacant on the shadows the firelight cast upon the wall across from her. A book lay open in her lap, but she hadn't read much of it and what she had read she could not remember.

She was annoyed, forced to wait in isolation until the cads and the fools decided what to do with her —but she knew she only had herself to blame. She'd made a mistake, a miscalculation. She had not anticipated he would turn on her. From the way he was responding, she thought she had him in the bag.

She gripped her arms tightly as she shifted in her seat, glaring from side to side at nothing, resenting everything about the last twenty-four hours. All that time, so many years—so. many. days. And all for what? Nothing, now. Her patience and carefulness had yielded nothing and now she was about to lose everything.

She didn't think he'd get so mad —at least over her. Was he really just insulted or did he actually have feelings for her? She could not fathom it. She was just so plain. So unimpressive. Dull.

She didn't think that his nobility would hold such prominence over him after so much time —but again, disregarding that was her error. It was easy to forget he was a prince. It seemed that, even torn from grace, it was still in his blood and he had the pride to match. She shouldn't have been so confident. Maybe if she had been more demure…friendlier like her…

She actually scoffed at the thought. Naive girls were a nice distraction, but it was those whose hearts were hardened who had substance. She thought he of all people would understand that, appreciate it, see that it was she who matched him best.

His response to her the day they met was so different. Of course she would be confident. It might have been twenty years since, but she had no reason to think yesterday would have gone any differently. They were actually alone this time. Finally. She'd gotten her one chance at securing him for herself—and she blew it.

A hint of self pity wormed through the silence, drawing her stern features into a frown as her eyes lowered. He really was kind to her that day. It was not just in her head. She had every reason to believe he would want her given the chance…

It was shortly after she first arrived, just a few days even. She remembered how guarded she'd been, quiet, reserved, observing those around her as she established where she was supposed to fit among them. The women were insufferable, the men more so. She was just starting to accept the fact that she did not belong even in a place as deplorable as this —and then she met him.

They had told her to stay away. They'd told her she may not ever even glimpse him. She had no idea what to expect, no reference of his features or his age. After the tales told on the boat, she half expected a literal beast. She knew better than that, however, and knew from the grandiose that none of those sailors had ever actually faced an Unseelie. If they had, then they'd have known that what made them so dangerous was how unsuspecting they were. They were not beasts in the slightest. No, beasts were mindless and crude.

Unseelie were cunning.

Refined.

Predators.

She'd forgotten her gloves in the drawing room that she and Greta were cleaning. She told her she would be just a second, that she would grab them and be right back. She was already gone before Greta could tell her to wait. It was harmless, really. She was only on her own for a moment.

She'd opened the door quickly without thinking and darted inside. She did not consider that the room might no longer be empty. She found her misplaced gloves and turned around to leave—

She gasped when she saw him, even hopping back a step. It was not a reaction that became her. It was pure reflex. She stared at him brazenly as he regarded her.

He was standing by a cupboard —his presence hidden behind the door when she opened it. It looked like he was about to reach for something but had paused upon the interruption. She thought he looked just as surprised as she was for a moment and yet —despite all that she was told— neither one ran.

She stood taller when his eyes moved up and down her, and focused on her composure given the way his head tilted curiously. She was caught off guard by how handsome and young he was —and also relieved by how well that fit her ambitions. It would be easier on her if he was handsome —not that the opposite would have impacted her resolve, but still. It was a nice perk.

He closed the cupboard door and walked towards her. Even presently, her memory of the sound of his footsteps was distinct. He was tall enough to look down his nose at her once they stood face to face —and she was shocked to find that her heart was racing. It was then that she remembered who he was and bowed her head in deference. She remembered telling him she was sorry and didn't mean to disturb him, she was just coming back to get her things. He did not respond, which had compelled her to peer up at him.

She'd seen marks like his more than once before and, though she would never dare admit as much, she knew by comparison that the severity of his was to be considered minor. Despite her caution, her eyes widened into a gape. There was no record of anyone being afflicted for as long as the Prince. From what she'd seen, the rate of deterioration on the men she'd placated, she'd imagined him looking quite brutalized. And yet he wasn't. He was controlled. Regal, even. She was amazed.

She remembered the pressure of his knuckle when he hooked it under her chin, lifting her back into proper stance, and the gulp she'd made at the way he kept their eyes in severe contact. She had little expectation going in, but if he was still that competent then maybe her foolhardy hopes stood a chance after all. The entire world spoke rumors of the Prince of Erewhon's plight, of his strength and intelligence. If ever there was a fae to overcome damnation, it would surely be him. As she stared into his crisp blue eyes, lined so beautifully in the richest black, she thought, for the first time, that might actually be true.

"You're new," he'd told her —his voice so smooth. She closed her eyes at the memory, savoring the chills it still gave her. She'd nodded and replied, "Yes."

His thumb had stroked along her chin. She remembered that.

"You shouldn't be near me," he'd said, but the warning was hollow. No, she'd sensed playfulness in him. A danger. …something thrilling. It made her smirk and blush and glance away. She couldn't believe she'd had such a bashful reaction.

"I know. I..didn't mean…"

He took a step closer.

"Your heart is racing." and he'd turned her chin up. The feeling of his gloved fingers against her jaw was soft. "Am I making you nervous?"

She'd gulped. She was nervous. She wasn't sure why. It was more of a fluttering feeling —like she was excited. Her eyes flickered over his face as she tried to think of what to do, how to make the most impression. He must have sensed her fluster. She remembered him grinning.

"Hm. I think I like you," he'd said, turning her by the chin to inspect her face. She hoped he liked what he saw. "You're from Sangvalen?"

Her eyes widened. So he knew about her? What did that mean? Was he…hoping to meet?

Maybe he'd asked for her —for one like her. Maybe their interests could truly align.

"Yes," she'd replied. Oh, how she wished she'd been bolder back then.

"Hm…"

He hummed, his gaze fixed to her face and appraising. She swallowed and he let go of her chin. She was disappointed that he lowered his hand back to his side.

"Does that bother you, Your Highness?" she asked, unsure of whether or not to keep her eyes on the floor.

"No," he'd said, with an emptiness that caught her attention. She peered up more boldly. "Why should it? I'm in no position to judge."

The way her heart thumped…she felt it even now, sitting alone in her chair. The way his eyes bore through her when he'd said that…it'd delved to her bones and lingered for decades. She recognized that look. She knew the bitterness and anger behind it. And she thought, if she could just keep going, if she could get just a little bit closer to him, she could share with him that familiarity, that same feeling in return. He could rely on her as others had before him. She could slake that anger. She could convince him to depend on it. She would make herself his only reprieve, and when he triumphed…when he changed the world and reclaimed all of it—she would be there to share in it. He would be obliged. He would be generous. And she…she would be safe.

And if he failed? Well…those consequences were nothing new to her.

She'd licked her lips and leaned close to him, careful not to touch. His left eyebrow arched curiously at her, but she knew he knew what she was intending. He tilted his head again, intrigued if nothing else. That was the moment. Her moment. The one that would seal it all—

But of course, it was ruined. They were interrupted by a sentinel and the anxious mess that was Greta hiding in the hall hoping not to be seen. Talia saw her future floating idly away when she watched him pull back from her, turning his attention to the open doorway with a frown. Next came Greta's jittering, grating voice calling out, "You should come along now. We're not supposed to bother His Highness, remember?"

Her heart sank as she watched the change in his expression, reflecting in the color of his marks as they marginally darkened. She wondered if he would retaliate but, despite the warning poised in those marks…he yielded. He took a step back from her, a coolness building between them. He shot her one last look and, to this day, she had no idea what it meant. He spoke the words, "Maybe next time," to her —then he was gone.

A moment later Greta was bursting into the doorway, eyes ablaze and face flushed. Talia couldn't tell if she was angry or terrified. She received a firm scolding and many warnings, all of which went in one ear and out the other. She knew better, after all. She knew him better now. She'd been with things like him, yet she now knew with certainty that there was no thing like him. She'd resolved herself to her mission then and there, knowing she would find him again. She would make herself valuable, accessible —indispensable. He would need her by the end and she would give herself graciously—

Talia blinked out of her reminiscing when a knock came suddenly at her door. The sound was hurried, loud. She had no idea who it could be.

"Who is it now?" she asked, unwilling to remove herself from her seat.

There was a pause, a muffled bit of stammering that she couldn't understand, and then the words, "It's…it's Miss Williams."

Talia's mouth formed a hard line. She did not respond. The voice came again.

"I'd like to come in."

Talia waited, staring at the door and wondering what chance she had at simply ignoring her. After a moment, however, she sighed, placing the book roughly down on her side table, then begrudgingly went to open the door.

Their eyes did not meet despite being so close —by Talia's design alone. Sarah's gaze, on the other hand, searched her face intently, unsure of whether her side cast eyes relieved or angered her.

"By all means, Mistress," Talia said with a ceremonious arm gesture, leading her inside the room whilst being the first to walk away. She let go of the door and preceded Sarah inside, dismissing her outright with not so much as a backward glance while moving to sit on the edge of her bed close by. Sarah stood guardedly in the doorway for a moment. She wasn't particularly knowledgeable about the courtesy there, but something told her that was really effing rude.

Sarah stepped inside and closed the door.

Talia gave her a sideways glance.

"You look well," she observed. Sarah arched a brow.

"Were you expecting something different?" she countered.

Talia cracked a faint grin—but still noticeable.

"I expected nothing...but I hoped for the best."

She did not even try to conceal the disingenuousness from her tone. Maybe she was hoping to weaken Sarah's composure by it, get under her skin. If so, she was left hanging. Sarah would not dignify that comment. Talia's grin faded as she glanced away and asked, "So then…are you here to seal my fate?"

Sarah stiffened, uncomfortable enough without being both immediately insulted and put on the spot. She supposed that was Talia's intention though. She was going on the defensive right out of the gate.

Sarah inhaled subtly through her nose, eyeing her sternly when she said, "Maybe. I thought we could talk first."

Talia looked at her more directly, an edge about her that Sarah had fully anticipated. She held her own against it, even returning the sharpness of her glare.

"Alright," Talia said, clipped.

Sarah took one more step into the room, peering around it discreetly.

"What happened yesterday?" she asked. Talia quirked a brow.

"What do you mean? I was attacked," she replied, then turned her head away dismissively. "Obviously."

Sarah's attention fixated on her profile, noticing that the bruises and cuts she'd seen on her before were no longer there.

"How?" she asked. Talia did not reply. Sarah clenched her jaw before forcing it to relax. "Why didn't you leave when you crossed paths?" she asked, her hand fisting behind her skirt. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but you're not supposed to interact."

Oh, she just knew it all, didn't she? Talia haphazardly tried not to glare when glancing back at her.

"Me?" she asked, cocking a brow. "The same goes for him, you know. Perhaps you should ask him why he didn't leave."

It was unfortunate Talia looked away when she did. She missed Sarah smothering a growl.

"How long were you with him?" Sarah asked.

Talia blinked, quickly becoming annoyed with her questions. She sounded just like Miri —but even more grating. Who was she to be holding inquisition? What place did she have among any of this? So what if they were engaged. She was only a human! She'd only known of this place for three meager weeks.

"Who can say," Talia answered with a shrug, "A while. I wasn't exactly paying attention to the clock."

Sarah glared but said nothing right away. She couldn't. She needed to keep her head cool. It'd been hours since she spoke with Lochlan. Evening of the same day was upon them, but it'd felt like weeks had passed. She knew not to act rashly, but she was not capable of just sitting around. She needed this agita out of her system. She had a freaking wedding to plan, after all. She needed Talia dealt with and gone.

"I want to know what triggered the event," she said much more passively. "I was with a sentinel when it happened, so I know the level two only started a few minutes before I found you." and then her eyes narrowed on Talia's upturned nose. Again she asked, "What happened?"

At some point Talia had crossed her arms. They shifted as she inhaled deeply through her nose.

"There's no point in telling you," she replied, then glanced back provocatively. "You seem to be imagining it well enough."

Sarah knew she looked mad. There was no helping that. The best she could do was not lash out and start screaming profanities and the stupid ugly bitch.

"Given the circumstances…" Sarah said through a tight jaw. "...you'd think you'd be a little more cooperative…or repentant."

Talia sat tall.

"I have no interest in trying to defend myself to you," she said, turning her torso to fully address Sarah. "—nor do I particularly feel the need to brag. If you're going to punish me, then do it. Drawing it out like this is tedious."

Sarah gave in to the urge to cross her own arms. She felt more secure that way.

"You seem impatient," she said, then shifted her weight to one foot. "Maybe that's guilt you're projecting."

Talia cracked a grin.

"Heh. Guilt? No. Regret over wasted time, maybe, but not guilt." She turned the rest of her body as well, seeming more confident. "Look down on me all you want, but don't expect me to take you seriously. You may be engaged to him now, but you have no idea what he is or what's gone on here," she said, and then her eyes sharpened on Sarah's face hatefully "And you don't know anything about this world."

Sarah pursed her lips, trying hard not to bite her cheek. Despite her hot temper, she did not actually engage in confrontation often. She was doing her best to keep her bravado tough. But…honestly, it wasn't all that hard given how much she now detested Talia's smug face.

"Then why don't you tell me something," she said.

A tic went across Talia's eyes, narrowing them for just one second as she sized Sarah up. She looked like she had a whole butt-ton of things to say, but she held back at the last second.

"It's pointless," she replied, stoically. "It's not going to change anything."

Sarah blinked slowly.

"Try me."

"Well, firstly, it wasn't about you," Talia quickly said, apparently not as stoic as she seemed. "I know what you're probably thinking —that I'm petty or jealous— but I'm not. Frankly, I do not consider you a rival or a threat to even be jealous of. You haven't been here long enough for that."

Sarah's brow scrunched up quizzically. What the…? Where the hell did that come from?

She shook her head clear of confusion and pressed on.

"You do realize he chose me to be his wife—"

"Because he had to." Talia cut her off with a scoff. "—because it was hardly a choice. You could not comprehend the weight of his responsibilities or what's going to happen if he fails them. I, however, understand the revulsion that comes from being cowed by the will of others." and then her eyes locked on Sarah's, searingly. "I admired how long His Highness was able to defy it. For centuries. For longer than either of us has even been alive. And under oppressive scrutiny. But now it is just sad. It's a sign of the end. I pity him for marrying you."

Oh, did she? Sarah didn't know the context for half of what Talia just said, but she knew enough from her nasty tone that she should be offended by it. She puffed up a little bit as she stood, her feet shifting on the floor.

"When I first met him…" Talia went on, but her voice trailed off as she nursed some bitter thought, killing the remainder of the sentence by clicking her teeth and shaking her head in some peculiar sense of disappointment.

Sarah's brows lifted.

"You met him before?" she asked.

Talia's eyes slanted over at her.

"Of course I have," she said, sly, though Sarah did not realize how baiting her tone was.

"When?" she asked, playing into her trap perfectly. Talia cracked a smile and rolled her eyes away.

"When I first came here," she answered lightly. "We crossed paths by accident just like yesterday —and he didn't leave then, either."

Sarah bit down on her tongue now. There was nothing subliminal about that subtext. It carried itself clearly if not vividly along Talia's furtive grin. It succeeded in pissing Sarah off immediately. It took all of her self control to remain aloof.

"Good for you," she said, then shifted the topic away decisively. "But what do you want, exactly? What were you hoping to accomplish?"

A bit of exasperation wormed its way through, but that sense of impatience worked well for her. Sarah's stare became harder and harder the more fed up she became.

Talia regarded her coldly, then something in her eyes turned vacant. Whatever she was about to say, she didn't.

"You wouldn't understand," she said instead, then started to turn away. Oh, how that incensed Sarah.

"Because I'm not from this world?" she asked.

Talia's ears flexed just before her head snapped back.

"Because you're not a whore," Talia snapped, sudden anger getting the better of her. Sarah blanched for just a second, caught off guard by the sharpness of her retort and the bright, livid look in her eyes. Talia didn't just look angry now, she looked hurt. Sarah's brow drew tight as she scrutinized it. "I can tell just by looking at you that you have no idea what it means to be less than." Talia went on, dropping her eyes down Sarah's person critically while sitting up even straighter. "—to be sold, to be used and controlled, and fitted to the whims of others, to judge your worth based solely on how well you can please someone else and in the same breath be completely invalidated for it." Passion rose in her voice, a flare of emotion she quickly tried to take back. She gritted her jaw and paused, staring Sarah dead in the eye all the while. "When Lord Leche recruited me and told me I would be a courtesan exclusive to the Prince, I thought all of my problems would be solved. To find favor with a man of such power and stature would change everything for me—and the fact that no one else had the stomach to face him gave me even more of an advantage. I'd be a fool not to take any chance at having that future, even now, and I will not apologize for it."

"What future?" Sarah asked just to get a word in. "To do what, become his princess?"

Talia looked away and scoffed.

"Please. I'm not that delusional," she said with a deprecating smile. "I have no interest in marrying him. The King would never allow it regardless. Even a human with no magic or namesake has more to offer than me." She paused while a thought crossed her mind, making her smile again —bitterly. "No, the bonds of marriage are weak," she went on, glancing towards the fire. "Once upon a time, husbands visited me freely while their wives wailed on their stoops. I was given gifts meant for them, their jewels, their gowns, openly and without shame. Cry all they may, it amounted to nothing. It's laughable how little power they had. No, marriage is nothing in my experience; true security comes from binding a man to you by other, more reliable means."

Sarah's hands tightened into closed fists over her arms. Her confidence was starting to waver again —just slightly. She was getting out of her depth now. She knew Talia once worked in a brothel, but she never contemplated the reality of that. Still, she was too angry to be swayed by sympathy or pity, or even her own ignorance.

"What about the King's contract?" she asked, remaining terse. "Was his offer not security enough?"

Talia hesitated. Clearly she'd had a retort prepared, but she bit it back. Instead she scowled and looked sharply away. Sarah found that curious.

"No," Talia practically muttered. "His Majesty made me a generous offer, yes, enough money to keep me housed and fed for eternity. He even promised me a title in Court —but it won't amount to much. Not really."

And now Sarah gauged despondency. Peculiar.

"How so?" she asked.

Talia averted her eyes and inhaled.

"Because giving title to a Sangvalen is like putting lipstick on a pig," she said, rolling her eyes back to Sarah. "I fear His Majesty, in all his magnanimity, is still rather detached from the realities of his own working class." She paused to watch Sarah frown —pleased by it. She then carried on assertively. "Just like His Highness, I am what I am and there is no changing that." Her tongue clicked off the last T as she spoke, as she turned to address Sarah directly and then pulled down the neck of her dress. Sarah's eyes widened in momentary surprise, but it wasn't her cleavage Talia was showing her. Sarah's eyes soon focused on a raised, white scar in a runic shape that she did not know the meaning of pressed just above her left breast. It was very obviously a brand —an old one. "It's enchanted, by the way. Otherwise I would have removed it," Talia informed her. Sarah did not know what to say, so she said nothing. When it was clear she would get no reply, Talia shrugged and re-situated herself, then carried on. "I am also known by some of the men in His Majesty's court. Powerful men. Ones who would not appreciate their dirty secrets flouting about and befriending their wives. Even with His Majesty's blessing I would not be welcomed there and eventually forced to start over somewhere new —and that's hardly any better."

For a moment, Sarah thought she saw frustration and sorrow turning down the corners of Talia's mouth, but it was fleeting even without the dim light.

"Once seeing this little mark, no honorable man would ever take me for a wife—" Talia went on, staring intently at the flames. "—and the dishonorable ones will think it gives them the right to take what is mine and send me back. You see, I have no place being outside of my place. I could have all the money in the world, but it will never change how I am seen or treated." and then she peered at Sarah from her peripheral "—or did you think the others dislike me merely for my unpleasant demeanor?"

Sarah kept her reactions aloof. Yes, she had thought that exactly.

"And you can't live alone, because…?" she asked.

The corners of Talia's mouth formed a sardonic grin.

"Hmph. As I said, you're incapable of understanding. Only highborn women can afford independence. There is too much scrutiny among the peasantry. We rely on our family and our namesake. For someone who does not have that, the only way to gain acceptance is through marriage. In many regions it is still better to be a whore than a spinster." Talia paused to let the words sink in, for it was obvious from Sarah's expression that she was abhorred by these facts. She must have had such an easy life in the Above, Talia thought. No one had ever given her an expression like that.

Talia rolled her eyes away.

"No…no there is no quiet cottage in the woods awaiting me," she said. "To have His Highness as an asset is my only real means of protecting myself."

Sarah's eyes lowered as she thought over everything Talia had said, her anger fading into a sense of resolve. If she wasn't the one directly affected by her selfishness, she might sympathize with her actions or with the need she felt to enact them, maybe even lessen her crime by calling it an act of self-preservation. Alas, she was directly affected and —even at her best— she was hardly that empathetic. Disillusionment kept her grounded, however, for she knew full well that she was the outsider there. She was the ignorant one. Crimes aside, she had no right to make the decision she was about to make.

And yet…

Bitterness was a mighty thing.

"You're right. I don't understand," Sarah said, calmly. "I don't know how this world operates at all. I don't know the culture or how you fit into it, and I certainly don't know the prejudices and injustices you faced, nor the dangers that might await you when you leave here. But…" and she paused to bite her lip, her brow furrowing deeply. "Like you said, it's not about me, and none of it excuses you from what you did —using him, making him suffer." Then she looked up, straight at Talia. "I don't really care that you left me there to fend for myself, but do you have any idea…what happened to him after you left? You keep talking like the two of you are so similar, but if that was true then you never would have put him through that."

There was admonishment in her voice, her level tone making it all the more effective. Talia did not reply, only waited for Sarah to continue as she so obviously planned to do.

Sarah bit the inside of her lip, trying hard not to acknowledge any insecurity that roused when saying, "I don't know…what went on between the two of you." and then she paused to lick her lips. "—but you should have stopped when the event was triggered. You...put him in a horrible position. You think that he is the only one in this world who can protect you? That he is an asset? It doesn't seem like you really value him all that much. But, even if you do, you don't actually care about him at all, do you?"

Talia's posture tensed, but she held back her retort. The two women were practically glaring at each other.

"Society shuns you both so you think you belong together, that it could be you and he against the world, am I getting it right?" Sarah rhetorically asked. "—but no, it's more like you might as well be together, huh? I don't understand how you can be such a hypocrite." Her eyes narrowed and her mouth pursed. She was getting angry again. "You talk about how awful it is to be controlled and used to please others, yet it sounds to me like you came here looking for a meal ticket. You realize that the others here actually care about what happens to him, yes? They're here to help him, not themselves. He's not just some ladder for you to climb and take advantage of. He's worth more than that."

Sarah stopped short the moment passion rose in her voice, her lip curling up a little as she forced herself to go in a different direction. She was so mad. After being consoled by the other girls and realizing that even Greta, Arlyn and June had genuine concern for Jareth too, she was finding it hard to maintain any kind of empathy when it came to Talia's motivations. They hoped he would recover soon. They felt bad that he was going through it. They said they prayed for his success over his trials each and every night.

And then there was Talia, who had also suffered, who had also gone through trials, who was shunned and shamed, and perhaps did have the most in common with Jareth after all —and yet did not seem the least bit interested in his wellbeing, if his condition had worsened or what had become of him, let alone bothering to convey the simple courtesy and ask.

Sarah let out a steady exhale, letting go of as much resentment as she could. Talia was not worth it.

"...if you're afraid of what will happen to you once your contract ends," she started up again, relaxing her fists. "—then perhaps you could have tried to gain real allies here who would actually help you, too. The people here are good…and so is he —had you chosen to view him as a person rather than a thing."

Talia's proudly lifted chin turned towards her slowly.

"...as a person?" she repeated, then arched a brow at her. "Do you view him as a person?"

Sarah's brow twitched. She wasn't expecting that to be the thing she latched into.

Talia looked somewhat angry when Sarah did not answer her readily, her head tilting haughtily when she leaned in and asked, "What kind of person?"

Again, Sarah was quiet, confused by her questions and even more by her offense. Had she said something ridiculous by calling him a person? What? There seemed to be some undertone moving beneath each question, however, so she simply waited for Talia to address it for her.

Talia looked away and held her arms tighter.

"Whatever you may think, he's hardly a person now, Mistress," Talia said deridingly. "I am familiar with things like him …and they're all the same. They are mongrels in need of being fed —waiting to starve and die and nothing more. Don't think him innocent just because he suffers. He knew full well that I intended to use him. I was simply polite enough to allow him use of me in return."

Sarah gulped. Before ever knocking on Talia's door, she was determined not to ask about that—would not demand explicits. Her pride would not allow it. Despite how desperately she wanted to know, she would not demean herself by asking Talia what acts occurred between them. It didn't matter anyway. Even if he was with her. Even if they did do things…he was clearly not himself. He had low impulse control. It wasn't his fault. And he always regretted it afterwards, right? Lochlan had told her that numerous times. So she shouldn't…take it personally.

"And did he?" she asked, her sense of pride in that inopportune moment being a small, small thing.

Talia peered up at her, a bit of canny in her eyes.

"Does it upset you?" she asked coyly. Sarah's teeth gritted, but then Talia glanced away again. "It needn't. I told you marriage doesn't matter to me, so we may both have what we want from him. Be his wife. Bear his children. Make him happy." and then she shot Sarah a cutting side eye. "—it will be easier for you with someone like me fulfilling his real needs."

Sarah was actually glad Talia said that. It fortified her resolve tenfold.

"Yeah, that's not gonna happen," she said, readily.

Talia pressed her tongue to the back of her teeth.

"You're making a mistake thinking you, a human, are even physically capable of managing him. He will only get more deranged from here on out. He will devour you," she warned, but Sarah stood firm. Talia tried not to huff. "You saw a glimpse of what he can be like, didn't you? I felt the tremors and heard the alarms. Would you like to know how many bones of mine he broke before I went into the hall? Would you like to know all the ways he enjoyed it? One would think you'd see the wisdom in accepting my offer. It really is in both our interest."

Sarah's expression was deadpan, hollow even. Was…this bitch really trying to win her over by scaring her right now? Was she really proposing they share Jareth? That they team up? Clearly she had no idea whom she was negotiating with.

"Sorry," she replied, steadfast. "—but I think I'll pass."

She pursed her lips and lowered her eyes for a moment, sorting through her thoughts before deciding she'd had enough.

"You know…before coming here, I thought we were more or less the same," she said, staring at the floor as she began to slowly pace. "I see our differences now, though. You think his only option is to indulge in those urges, that he has no choice but to be like that. But…what you fail to see, Talia, is that he does not want that. He does not want to lose control to those parts of himself. To be a mongrel. I see that clearly. You may know more about what he is, but I know who he is. Yes, there is something…dark in him…but that isn't what matters." She stopped pacing and looked up from the floor, her brow softening as the next words formed on her tongue. "You would never be able to fulfill his needs," she said, looking her square in the eye. "You don't even know what they are."

Talia was silent, hopefully put in her place. By that point Sarah was just plain tired —and sad— and could not bring herself to enjoy the ensuing sense of superiority. Instead she just exhaled, dropping her shoulders as she closed her eyes in a slow blink.

"Well...anyway, I'm glad you've been so frank with me," she said, opening her eyes. "I've been considering my options as far as what to do about all this. I thought I would need a few days to think, but I feel a lot better with my initial decision now." and she took a casual step to the side. Talia watched her warily. "I'm not someone who tortures or kills, so you can rest easy on that account. This may sound petty, but what I'd like to do is send you somewhere far away from here where I don't have to look at you or worry about this happening ever again. Another country maybe? I don't know. But—" Sarah paused to roll her eyes, nearly sighing. "It's a bit more complicated than that, isn't it?"

She looked Talia dead in the eye when asking that. Talia did not answer, however, knowing from her tone it would be best to bide her time.

"It occurred to me that if I end your contract here early and send you away, you'll be seen as a victim," Sarah went on casually. "—and news of what happened will reflect poorly on the Prince. I doubt you had any forethought towards that, or maybe you did and you just don't care —either way, I will not allow it."

Talia watched Sarah avert her eyes and take in a deep breath, seeming to enjoy the suspense she was creating.

"So...I guess that means you will stay here, on this island and, as far as the King is concerned, life will go on as if yesterday never happened."

Talia blinked dumbly, unsure she heard her correctly.

"W-are you serious? That's it?"

Sarah's eyes slanted to her sharply.

"Oh, don't get confused," she quickly said, cutting Talia's relief dead in its tracks. "I said on this island. I may not be able to send you across the sea, but this place is plenty big enough to find some far away recess to stick and forget about you in." Images of an oubliette presented itself in her mind, but she dismissed it. Jaded all she was, she wasn't that cruel—not that Talia needed to know that at the moment. Talia was still looking confused when she finished with a catty, "Or did you think I was going to let someone with your unpleasant demeanor continue living in my castle?"

Talia's mouth tightened and she puffed up in the shoulders, but Sarah dismissed her by turning herself away.

"I'm still deciding between a mud hut somewhere at the edge of the Goblin City, a hovel on the beach at the far end of the island, or maybe just a hole in the ground. Bastian and Merek will help me work out the logistics of all three, but ideally you'll get what you claim to want so badly —freedom from judgment and fear of persecution? Don't worry, I'll make sure you don't have any gossipy neighbors to worry about either. You'll have a real sense of safety. You know…because you'll be alone?"

She was not watching Talia directly but could tell from her peripheral vision that her every fiber had just gone rigid. She was probably gaping in dread. Sarah had learned previously that Talia detested the outdoors the most—especially sand.

"Until then, I suggest you watch yourself," Sarah said, jutting out a hip when she stopped her slow pacing. "—and, in case it needs to be stated, stay the hell away from me and him."

She didn't really care if Talia had anything to say. She turned around and went towards the door with her head held high. Her petty side wasn't quite satiated, however. Sarah stopped in the doorway and glanced back just before entering the hall.

"I know it may have been tedious, but it was nice talking with you, Talia," she said, then closed the door behind her.

Talia looked away from the door and glared, her arms uncrossing so her hands could reach out and scrunch the skirt of her dress. She was irritated but knew nothing she said would matter. She knew she would receive some punishment, so all she'd really wanted was to get a couple of good jabs in. Objectively, she should be happy. That was such a lenient sentence that she hadn't remotely expected it. She supposed the Mistress thought herself quite magnanimous —taking the high ground like that when she so obviously would rather have her drawn and quartered.

She turned her attention to the fire, imagining all that went wrong and cursing everyone but herself for it. If only she had found him sooner. If she had seduced him before she showed up, then maybe the situation would be different —reversed, even.

She consoled herself with the assurance that, despite Miss Williams's tough veneer or perhaps even because of it, she would eventually learn just what little substance she had.

The Prince was nearing his end. She could tell from the marks she'd seen. And once that happened, well…then they'd both be discarded.

---

Sarah pinched the bridge of her nose as she walked back down the hall, the stress of the confrontation quickly catching up to her. She didn't know what to expect, but naturally Talia delivered her best self. She was glad now to be done with it, though still unsure sending her away was the best decision. She felt as though her inability to move passed the issue with nobility or any particular grace to be a sign of weakness. She could have done better, right? At the same time…it wasn't like monarchs were unknown for beheading those who irked them...

So maybe she was weak for that reason. Should she have gone with something more cruel? Something that hurt her? She really couldn't imagine it. She didn't have it in her. She didn't judge Jareth or anyone for making gruesome decisions, this was an archaic place, but that didn't mean she wanted to do so herself.

She hated how little she still knew about what happened. She knew the game. It was all about the insinuations. A part of her knew Talia could have been bolstering out of her ass. She wasn't shying away from anything else, so why tiptoe around that? But for as optimistic as Sarah was trying to be, she really just had zero clue. Again, not that it mattered. Not that he was responsible for his actions in that state. …not that she was taking any of it personally.

But she was hurt. He had hurt her. Her heart was in pain and fighting with her mind because, actually, Jareth was hardly even hers to claim in the first place. They weren't together, were they? They'd kissed a few times, gotten a little touchy, sure, but what right did that give her to him? Especially….if he wanted someone else. Talia may have been right in one regard. A marriage certificate alone meant nothing.

She wanted to see him again, but she knew now wasn't the time. On the other hand, she could not fathom waiting until the wedding. How would she face him? What would they even say? No, they needed to talk sooner. She had no idea what would happen, but she wanted to face him and get his side, and soothe her reeling imagination while screaming at him all of her pent up outrage. She wanted to understand the weight of his responsibilities and to know her own place within his world. She wanted to know how he felt about her —if she should be fighting harder or not bother feeling hurt in the first place.

But not today.

No…she was not ready for that today. She was too raw and too hung up on Talia. It'd been a strange three weeks. She was aghast when Lochlan first told her who she was marrying. It was dizzying, laughable even. She wasn't ever expecting…to feel so strongly.

As she stood alone in the hall with a sentinel by her side, angered and embittered, she couldn't help but regard herself as nothing more than a meddling outsider. An intruder. Someone who had just waltzed in and made a right mess of things.

And then something clicked.

Maybe that was it. Maybe she was meddlesome. And maybe…it was time she started utilizing that fact.

It was beyond clear that absolutely no one was going to just give her the information she needed and, with the wedding a mere forty-eight hours away, it was high time she started taking some proactive measures and help herself.

She halted in her tracks and looked around the hall, then turned to the sentinel as it stopped close to her side.

"Tell me where the Prince is right now," she said to it.

The stone suit remained immobile, but a deep voice resonated from beneath its helmet.

"Outside the castle."

Sarah drew back confusedly.

"Oh? Why?" she impulsively asked despite knowing it would not answer.

Her brow furrowed up at it both with intrigue and concern, wanting to know where he was specifically and what he was doing, but she chose not to investigate. Maybe he was asleep in the woods or flying over the labyrinth —or maybe he was dangling a poor goblin by its toes over the bog. No matter what the reason, despite her disconcerted expression, Sarah was relieved. Outside was the most optimal place for him to be.

It meant his bedroom would be empty.

Ripe for snooping.

If there were no answers to be found there, then where else?

"Good," she replied to the sentinel, squaring her shoulders determinedly. "Take me to his room."

---

The door to Jareth's room was a lot less impressive than she thought it'd be. In fact…it was mildly off-putting. The door to her own room was oversized, intricately carved and gilded with gold accents. It had little critters and vinework, carefully recessed bits of iconography telling fables to anyone who conveyed even the slightest interest beyond the knob. It was thick and heavy, and shone under torch light with a rich lacquer. It went beyond simple practicality and, to the T, reflected the aesthetic and opulence of the room beyond it; which was why —as Sarah stood alone in a dimly lit hall she'd never been in before in front of a few darkly tinted planks of wood no more eye catching than the four-paneled, prefab pressboard slabs she had back home— she couldn't help but wonder, gravely, what the hell kind of medieval lair lurked within.

She gulped as she stared at it. She knew he wasn't inside, but the mere idea of trespassing —or rather, getting caught— jittered her nerves all the same. A part of her felt reluctant to enter, to infringe upon his privacy when he'd been nothing but respectful of her own personal boundaries (mostly …in her opinion...kind of). Still, something needed to change. She needed answers and, if no one would give them to her then she had no choice but to find them herself, right?

She reached out for the knob and took hold of it firmly, twisting and then holding it steady without pushing open. She heard the latch click and was honestly surprised. She'd half expected it to be locked. Jareth was incredibly withdrawn, after all, so she couldn't imagine him leaving his private space open to literally any nosy busybody just so happening to wander by.

But then she frowned. He'd already told her, hadn't he? There were no locks there. Was he being literal? Was it…another precaution?

Shooing negative thoughts away before they could spiral, Sarah squared her shoulders and opened the door. From the look of it, she'd expected it to creak loudly and give away her position —but the hinges were completely silent. She gave the open space beyond a cursory glance, then stepped inside.

The room was initially as dark as the hallway but brightened upon her entering, the light from many already lit candles and a gently burning hearth elevating as if awakening by taking a deep breath. Sarah closed the door behind herself, leaving the sentinel in the hall.

To her relief, Jareth's room was not decrepit as she was anticipating. It was, however, small. Much smaller than her room, not even half as big, she surmised. The ceilings were low and the decor was sparse —only a nondescript landscape painting hung here or there on the walls to break up the tessellations of brick. One such painting leaned against the mantle over the hearth, nestled into the far right corner ahead of her. To the right of it was a floor to ceiling bookcase spanning the entire right wall. A writing desk sat in front of it, mounds of books, scattered papers, and random doodads cluttering the top of it.

Directly across from her on the far wall was a closed door. For now she assumed that led to a bathroom. To her immediate left was…nothing really. Much of the wall was bare except for an armoire tucked into the nearest corner. In the far left corner, facing her diagonally, was his bed. It was probably no bigger than her own, but it looked oversized and out of place in the small space. The posts had large wooden orbs atop them that glistened in the firelight, and the high headboard was upholstered with black, tufted leather that matched the neatly made black bedding. There were cabinets opposite the bed against the far wall and a badly tattered rug on the floor but, other than that, there wasn't much else to look at. Not even a window. Given who Jareth was and how he dressed, oftentimes repeatedly throughout the day, Sarah found herself wondering whether or not she was in the right place.

But there was no one around to clarify her quandary. The fire crackled, pulling her from her daze.

She stepped to the center of the room and looked around again, trying to sense out anything that might be significant. There was nothing that caught her eye at all, so she decided to start with the desk.

The chair behind it was a tufted leather as well and, as she immediately learned upon sitting, was made for a person much larger than her. She actually sank into it when sitting down, needing to scoot herself to the edge and sit properly so she could successfully snoop.

There were a few loose sheets of paper in the center of the desktop which she sifted through first, but oddly they were either blank or had weird, intense scribbles on them. One was a pattern of lines, another was completely filled with small dots. Sarah had no idea what they were or what they meant, so she set them back as she found them.

She decided to open the top drawer next. It was filled with more blank stationary, loose pens and pencils, and a couple messy inkwells. She reached in and shuffled it around, then heard something like a rock rolling around on the wood. She moved some parchment out of the way and uncovered a peculiar stone. It was dark green and triangular shaped with a hole worn out of the center. Sarah thought that odd, but not necessarily noteworthy. She inspected it closer and, when nothing miraculous happened, decided it was probably a paperweight and put it back.

Beyond that, there was nothing interesting there either. She scrunched her brow as she closed the drawer, disappointed already, and moved on to the others. Of the two drawers on the left, one was empty. The other, however, was filled with notebooks. She took some out and, upon inspection, realized they were actually sketchbooks. Of the three she flipped through, every single page had been used. Some pages had drawings of animals, underground creatures, and flowers. She imagined them as still lifes —him out in the woods recording the world around him simply to pass the time. Other pages, however, showed more of those violent etchings. But it wasn't…like he'd been frustrated by a drawing gone wrong. No, the chaos there looked intentional. There was a pattern to it in many of them and, in others, the pressure of the pencil in his hand had left deep, permanent grooves in the paper. The lines were sharp and consistent. Over and over they repeated until some abstract thing was formed. She frowned as she looked through one after another, and another and another, wondering if he'd been in a fit when he drew them, if he'd been upset and in pain, and if expressing it like that helped. After a few minutes she put the books away. She didn't have the heart to look through every single one.

She turned to the right next. That side only had one drawer, the size of the two on the left combined. It was difficult to open, the hefty stack of books inside of it weighing it down. She took the first out and inspected it by flipping through the first few pages. That one had writing in it —handwriting and presumably Jareth's. It was messy, but that wasn't what made it illegible. Sarah frowned again when she realized it was not written in English. In fact, it didn't look to even be written in the Latin alphabet. She'd never seen symbols like those before, so she inferred it was some fae language. Disheartened, she put the book back and looked through others only to find that all of them were the same.

She ended up closing the drawer and scowling. It was bad enough she had no idea what she should even be looking for, but to not be able to understand the things she did find? Ugh. This was going to be harder than she'd thought.

She sat, thinking, for a couple of minutes as her eyes glossed over the desktop. There was a broken quill that had splotched a piece of paper with ink to her left. To the right was a small collection of books. With no better option than to fondle his desk ornaments or just give up and leave, she went through those next.

To Sarah's surprise, the first book was not written in those strange runes. It was, however, still not in English. That said, the fact that she could recognize the letters of her alphabet was exciting enough to reignite some hope in her endeavor. She set the book aside and began removing others from the stack one by one.

Thus far the covers and spines of all of them were nondescript —which was why she paused when the next book revealed itself with a very specific image on the front.

Sarah pulled the book away and brought it close to her, running the tips of her fingers over the deeply embossed lines. The book itself looked old, bound in leather, its color irregularly faded to become a mix of brown, gray and green. Lain into it, in flaking gold, was what she immediately recognized as the same strange infinity symbol she saw on Jareth's pendant and on the Erewhon flag —the Sign of Seel.

She opened the book eagerly but found that it was also written in fae runes. She lowered it a little and flipped through anyway, mindful of the old, brittle pages. She noticed as she did so that there were creases at certain intervals in the book. She balanced the spine on her hand and saw there were several sections that had been opened and read through repeatedly. She opened it to those same sections, wishing she knew what it said. She wasn't sure why, but she got the feeling it was important —maybe it was just because it was the only one with cover art, but still. That symbol…it meant something.

Sarah sighed as she debated what to do. She obviously couldn't read it now, but that wasn't definite. She had nothing but time after all, so maybe she could learn? Maybe someone on the island would teach her the language and she could translate it? God, that sounded like a long time in the making, but she really didn't have any other ideas —aside from someone just plain reading it to her, but given how forthcoming the people there had been thus far, she wasn't holding her breath over that scenario.

She glanced down at the book again and decided she would leave that clandestine adventure with something. It was small enough to be easily concealed, so she slipped it into the deep pocket in her skirt while standing from the desk. A part of her was aware that Jareth might notice it missing sometime, and sometime soon, but she didn't care much. He would probably avoid her for as long as possible, so that gave her some time to find a good hiding place for it.

She did not see a clock in the room, but she felt like enough time had passed and to play it safe she ought to get going. There were still those cabinets over by the bed to riffle through and the bookcase behind her, but she would save them for another day. She made sure everything on the desk looked untouched before turning towards the door, then froze utterly in place when it suddenly opened.

Those studiously oiled hinges that had just protected Sarah were now her enemy and, when she was at ease to do so, she would be sure to curse them with a thousand ugly deaths. As it was, however, she did not have time to do much of anything. The door swung open so easily and in such silence that Sarah didn't even have the chance to process it before it was too late.

She gaped haplessly as Jareth stepped into the room. He'd been glancing down, unsuspecting and unguarded as he should be. But then he paused. His brow twitched and, with his hand still on the doorknob, he looked up. Straight at her.

Shit.

Sarah's mouth literally hung open as every synapse fired rapidly, screaming at her to react. She wanted to run away, to poof the fuck out of there like he so often did. But she didn't. And, despite the insistence of her panic, neither did she melt into the floorboards. She just stood there. Staring. Without a blink.

Jareth stared at her right back, though his expression was hardly a gape. His silent regard of her was as cold as it'd ever been, the edge in his eyes like a razor as they then swept sharply away from her pitiful face. He let go of the handle next. He did not close the door behind himself but moved casually into the room nonetheless. And, if that brick wall of steely tension wasn't enough to smite her, the shrill tone of voice practically dismissed her entire being when he turned away from her and asked, "What are you doing here?"

Sarah's blanche endured, although she was able to turn in her spot to track him. He moved towards the armoire on the left side of the room and…did not seem to have any interest in her at all. She began to blink repeatedly as her faculty caught back up with her, making her suddenly anxious.

Oh God. What *am* I doing here? Quick! Think, Sarah, think!

"I've…been looking for you," she said on a shaky impulse. "I wanted to make sure you were doing okay."

Her voice was small at the end, her fingers aggressively knotting behind her back. She could feel the book she'd stolen weighing down the right side of her dress. She did her best to ignore it.

Jareth opened the closet while she spoke, bending forward to rummage for something —then stopped. His back was to her, but he turned towards her just enough for her to discern that his eyebrow was raised.

"Okay?" he repeated, chidingly, before closing his eyes on a long blink and turning back towards the armoire. He found what he was looking for and, in the same motion, straightened while closing the doors firmly shut. "I'm not the one you should be concerned over," he said without looking at her, then briskly moved past her towards his desk.

Sarah frowned as she watched him, turning once more on her heel as he put whatever he'd just taken out of the closet into a drawer in the desk. Sarah felt her palms start to sweat as she eyed the bare spot on the table where the book had once been. He was standing directly next to it.

She did not realize she failed to reply to him, her attention getting lost on him as her eyes flickered up. He was within five feet of her now. She could see him…quite well.

He was underdressed compared to the way she usually encountered him, wearing a plain pair of black trousers and a loose, white shirt. The collar was undone, a revealing V leading close to his navel, and so were the cuffs. She could see more of his forearms beyond the billowed fabric while he moved, and she thought…he looked…sweaty. With that in mind, she might also say his skin was a bit flushed. He was not wearing gloves either. …that was new.

Sarah gulped as she tried and failed to get her shit together and form a plan. Her fight or flight was toying with her, compelling her to find the nearest escape whilst simultaneously keeping her glued in place. By the time her attention made it to his face, her heart was beating fast. He was looking down at the desk. She inspected his eyes closely. As Lochlan said, the red was gone. The marks she saw now were faint and grayish-brown.

Sarah frowned as she realized there was also color under his eyes and that it wasn't from the marks. Combined with the listlessness about him and the slight hunch of his shoulders, she determined that he looked utterly exhausted. Was this…what Lochlan was talking about? Where had he been and what had he been doing all day? Shouldn't he be relaxing or something?

She must have taken too long in her ogling, for Jareth suddenly spoke at her without so much as looking up.

"As you can see, I'm perfectly fine," he said with some impatience, closing a drawer roughly. "Was there something you needed?"

Sarah bit her lip. That was obviously a rhetorical question. She knew he was giving her an out and felt an instinctive urge to tuck tail and run. …but she didn't do that either. Something of boldness welled up in her chest as she nibbled her lower lip, the desire to clear the air proving more insistent than his empty tone —a tone she did not much appreciate, by the way. Oh? she thought. Just like that? So we're just gonna ignore all of yesterday and brush it under the rug?

After the day I've had?

Fat fucking chance.

Sarah swallowed down her jitters and forced her hands to unknot.

"I wanted to talk to you…about what you said."

She spoke calmly, too calmly. Jareth paused and peered over at her, one brow arching.

"What I said?" he repeated.

Sarah locked onto his gaze but a part of her regretted it. His stare was deadpan and she really hoped hers was too. From the sudden flare in her chest, she knew that despite her tough talk she was actually still extremely bothered by what may or may not have happened to Talia, and his direct attention and stupid dewy handsome face with its I don't want you expression now within an arm's reach of her were giving her itchy fists. She knew not to lash out, however. This was not a normal nor simple situation. Objectively she knew that, if something did happen, it might not have been his doing and he was clearly trying to push her away with denial right now…but that didn't lessen the hurt any.

She ignored that sense of insecurity and pressed on.

"What did you mean when you said this place is a prison?" she asked, then flickered her eyes away. "Because…honestly yes, I have been wondering. Your father sent you here. That means he made you come. You've been stuck here for centuries and you think he wants to write you out of succession—"

"And?" Jareth asked, his tone curt. Sarah clenched her jaw and looked at him again. Her eyes filled with pity that she thought was compassion when she said,

"And you're alone. Everyone avoids you because of…something. I thought all the aloofness was just because of some strange and unfortunate social structure, but…is it more serious than that? Jareth, are you actually...in exile?"

The question hung in the air for one poignant second, his obdurate stare on her searing —before it broke into a smirk.

Jareth huffed and straightened, starting to walk around the desk in her direction.

"How astute," he said deridingly. "—and it only took you three weeks to figure that out?"

Sarah frowned, keeping her attention on his face as he moved.

"Your mother told me-"

But then he stopped dead near the corner of the desk.

"You met my mother?" he asked with a sudden glare. Sarah hesitated. He looked angry, but…maybe he was just surprised?

"Yes," she replied confidently. "And she told me that you can't go back, that you can't become king, until you do what must be done. She made it seem like some run of the mill rite of passage, but it's obviously not. I don't understand—"

"Undo." Jareth cut her off. Sarah blinked.

"What?"

"I must undo what has been done," he clarified, his hand subtly fisting at his side. "That is my penance."

Sarah paused. Jareth had responded—no, answered a question. He was speaking with her—communicating. She wasn't expecting a real answer just now and was honestly caught off guard. She pushed through that blip in composure deftly though, her brows furrowing together when she asked him, "Penance for what?"

Jareth was silent. His eyes were fixed on her face, but she wondered if he was not in fact looking through her. His guard was up again. She could practically feel it filling the few feet of space that separated them. She licked her lips as her toes curled.

"It's okay if you're not ready to tell me," she said, trying not to frown. "I...just want to help."

Oh, but that was wrong.

Jareth's left eyebrow quirked sharply and the corners on his mouth tightened. He looked offended somehow. Or…maybe angry.

"Help?" he repeated and —yes, she was right, he was angry. "Are you not upset? Did my behavior yesterday not bother you?" he asked her, his voice rising as if she'd been the one tip-toeing around the elephant in the room all that time. He placed a hand to the desk and even leaned in a little, his tone lowered when he asked, "Did those things that I did to her not bother you?"

That question —no, his flagrant stare while asking it— was like an arrow to the chest. Sarah felt her lip pull into her teeth, but she refused to let it quiver. She frowned in disconcertion, scowled really, making sure to hold his gaze just as strongly.

"I...I think there's a bigger picture here for me to be upset about. I'm just trying to understand it."

She spoke with determination, with a slow and steady tone that he was hardly impressed by.

"Have you heard the one about curiosity and cats?" he asked, inclining his head towards her while letting go of the desk and walking on by. "Best tread lightly, dear, you may find yourself regretting such acts of charity."

That final word snapped off his tongue like venom, his mouth a sneer as he rolled his eyes away from her. Sarah turned and followed him, even breaking her petrification to take a step forward in his direction.

"Jareth—" she said, her tone both a command and a plea, and reached out to pinch his sleeve. Jareth stopped and stood stock still with his back to her, his head lowered and cocked to one side.

She thought maybe, after a moment, he would sigh and relax his shoulders, that he would see she really did have the best intentions and that she could be trusted, that he didn't need to bear his burdens alone, ever—

But he didn't.

No, she could sense his posture become rigid as he pulled out of her grasp then turned around to give her a glare.

"Why are you here?" he asked. Sarah gaped. "What the hell do you keep trying to do?" His voice was loud, far from a shout but still plenty intimidating. Sarah's eyes widened. This was meant to be a solo mission—she was still reeling from Talia—she had not prepared herself for this. "If you were smart you'd stay the hell away from me like everyone else in this castle, but no," he went on, a mean snap in his voice. "You're always here. Always staring at me and expecting —what are you expecting from me?"

Sarah blinked furiously as he glared down at her, cursing her own nerves and her jitters and her stupid adrenaline muting all of her quick comebacks. She took a steadying inhale through her nose before replying.

"I'm expecting to build a relationship with you," she said, then paused to grit her teeth. "We're getting married in two days. Two days, Jareth. I know this was a surprise for you, but I walked into this with eyes wide open. I knew it was you and I knew what was expected of me. I was, and yes I am still, willing. I don't think wanting to get to know you is really that big of a deal."

Jareth made a snide tch sound.

"Relationship?" he said, rolling his eyes. "Now you're being foolish."

"And you're being an ass," she snapped back, starting to get a little angry herself. He glared down his nose at her but that time she was able to stand tall and affirmatively say, "I'm not going to run, so you better just get over it. I'm not afraid of you, Jareth."

He considered her words. She could tell by the extra second that passed before he replied. Then she watched a shade lower over his eyes —another layer added to the wall.

"You should be," he said, his voice devoid of everything. "You really should be."

He turned and walked away from her then as if the conversation was simply done. It looked like he was heading back out the door —probably just to get away from her, she inferred. Still, he could just vanish if he truly wanted to get away.

The sight of him walking off on her thus meant something more and sent a surge of pent up emotions straight to her vocal cords, inconveniences like worry, fear and anger finally getting their break. She felt her jaw clench and her face grow hot, but — No. No, you don't get to walk away from me after what you did.

Echos of Talia's vulgar insinuations replayed in her ears, and she fisted her hands tightly at her sides. She was about at her limit with all this. She cut him with her glare as the words "Did you fuck her?" all but tumbled out of her mouth.

Jareth paused. He paused and had the sheer audacity to look confused when he glanced back at her.

"Who?" he asked.

Sarah took an inhale so sharp it puffed up her chest.

"Talia," she said, taking a step closer to him. "The shit storm I walked in on yesterday? The things you did to her? I am asking if you. had. sex. with. her."

Jareth studied her guardedly for a moment, not responding promptly like she'd hoped. Instead, he turned his body to face her fully and stood a little taller —a certain offensive shift going through him that she did not like at all. Sarah had no idea what was going through his mind, but the fucking bastard had the further gall to grin at her while subduing a deprecating laugh. Sarah felt its sting all the same. Felt it reignite her anger straight from the source—

"Ah, so that's what this is about," he said, breezily. Sarah drew back with a scowl.

"Excuse me?"

He took a step towards her.

"You come here in the guise of a saint, but you're just as self-serving as the rest of us," he said to her scornfully. He tilted his head at her next, with a downright insulting cock of a brow to boot. "What, feeling insecure are you? Needing some flattery? I think you're misplacing your concerns, love. Tell me, do you really think you can handle having all of my attention, Sarah?"

Sarah bit the inside of her cheek, that condescending smirk on his face giving her all the grounding she ever needed. She took one more step closer, the last one left to take, and tilted her head back to address him.

"Absolutely," she said, staring him dead in the eye. "—and you haven't answered the question. I can't hold past exploits against you, but I can and I do expect a modicum of respect for our situation and ask that you not fuck people within a stone's throw from my own bedroom."

Jareth laughed at her that time. He couldn't help it.

"Hm, so two stone throws then?" he asked. Sarah pursed her lips.

"Jareth—"

"Trust me child, my advances are not something you actually want." He cut her off flippantly, waiting until her mouth closed before continuing. His posture was haughty and his eyes were narrow when he said, "You should be grateful if I ever choose to lay my hands on someone else."

What happened next was not well thought out. In fact, it was pure instinct.

In order to deflect from the hot, stupid, completely unneeded tears that suddenly welled in her eyes, Sarah's arm wound itself back and slapped him starkly across the face.

He did not stop her from doing so, but she didn't think about that.

"Please. You really think I can't handle you, Goblin King?" she spoke angrily, eyes trained on his reddening cheek as he held his face turned to the side. And now he refused to look at her. Refused. God, she hated him in that moment. Really fucking hated him— "Don't you dare underestimate me. You have no idea what I can handle and—and for fuck's sake, look at me when I'm talking to you!"

Her fists were clenching around his collar before she knew it, jerking him forward until he was forced to look at her, and then pulled him down —damned to be the only one straining themselves. The insistence of the gesture had him staggering half a step closer and he growled in annoyance over it.

The air between them became quickly heated —from the close mingling of their breath if nothing else— naught but a couple of inches between their snarled lips. Sarah took in a deep breath through her nose, her eyes clear and glistening and ignoring the physical implications of her rash actions with all of her might. Her hands around his shirt were tingling. The fabric felt hot against her knuckles.

"Now…answer my question," she said, slowly. "Did you fuck her?"

Jareth could sense her pulse beating wildly like it was playing in his own ear. It was deep, thrumming, hard. And that pout on her mouth—it was full and round and in need of being split. Her eyes were blazing. They tore into him more decisively than her tense little fingers on his shirt. He felt a pressure moving in around him, but that…that was all her.

Jareth looked and sounded deeply begrudged by the fact when he took her by the upper arms and pulled her forward then said, with a tone as hard as stone, "No."

That word sunk in deep along with the intensity of his stare, falling heavily enough to crush the fears churning her gut. Sarah did not get to enjoy the feeling, however. His expression looked even more resentful when his eyes then raked down her face, his hands on her biceps tightening. She did not get further explanation nor comfort. Instead, "Open your mouth," he told her.

"Why?" she shot back. Sarah watched his teeth grit, felt his hands tighten more. He looked even taller, somehow, and then he stared her square in the eye again.

"Because she is not the one whom I need to fuck."

Sarah's eyes widened.

"W-wha—"

She did not get to finish the word, nor fully recoil as was her instinct. She'd done as he asked by daring to speak, parting her lips in a perfect o for him that he did not spare one second for before invading. She whimpered at the feeling of a fist suddenly knotting into the hair at the back of her neck while another hand pressed to her lower back and pulled. He held her hips flush against his as he kissed her —angrily.

She felt his tongue push inside of her mouth and curl around her teeth, exuding a kind of insistence that forced her to reciprocate. She pulled back from it reflexively for the simple sake of breathing, her mouth opening more and searching for air, but his hands on her body only became more aggressive. He pulled her back in and held her there, too close for comfort, pinching the skin on her neck while he swallowed her muffled yelps of surprise and stroked her wet, curled-back tongue with his.

Their bodies moved together as she weakly fought to escape, both their eyes closing as hot, humid breaths flushed the other's cheek. Sarah grimaced as her body betrayed her, as she opened her mouth wider and wider and kissed him back despite the physical shock. Her heart still ached. She kept thinking about him and Talia, over and over, reluctant to believe that one little word was enough to mend her wounds but so desperately wanting to let it. Maybe he didn't sleep with her, but that didn't mean other things didn't happen. She was so smug. He definitely beat her at the very least…

But his hands on her were strenuous. He was kissing her like he was at his wit's end, and he—he tasted so fucking good.

In a fit of desperation, Sarah's hands let go of Jareth's shirt and reached into his hair, pulling herself up against his torso and locking her arms around him. She could hear him making noises into her mouth, low, muffled, passionate noises that relieved and much as thrilled her. She closed her eyes again, hard, and savored his taste, his feel, the firmness of his large, bare hands holding her just as possessively.

She breathed heavily as he lapped at her tongue, licking the inside of her mouth and sucking on her lips, sparing no delicacy as he seemed to lose himself deeper and deeper into her. He let go of her hair and moved both hands to her back, splaying his fingers wide over her shoulder blades and clutching her too close to breathe.

Her toes curled in her shoes when he abruptly took her by the waist and turned her, just barely lifting her off the ground before pushing her to the wall nearest the door. His shoulders hunched as he bent slightly down, his left shoulder dropping to hastily pull up the skirt of her dress. She bent a knee for his ease and watched him do so, inspecting the state of his eyes and the color there. She was nervous this was wrong, that it was too soon, that she was no better than Talia after all and was about to fuck it all up again, but for whatever reason the marks hadn't really changed. They were only slightly darker and smokey. She did not have time to contemplate that peculiarity, however, for her line of sight was quickly obstructed by his hand reaching under her chin, clamping around her jaw and turning her face starkly away. He had the skirt of her dress hitched over her knee now. She stood to the very tips of her toes when he leaned in and pressed his thigh flush against her groin.

She gave him another wanton whimper when his tongue hit her neck, the feeling so much better —so much more real— than the day before. Her mouth opened wider as she curled her head back, the pressure of his hand at her jaw and the sensation of his fingers spread so close to the corners of her mouth inciting her compulsion to flick out her tongue and suck.

Jareth rubbed his knee in circles, finding her clit and making her bite back a moan. His eyes rolled back and he bit down in response, her taste and her sounds and the building scent of her arousal flooding over his senses. For a moment he heard the whisper, felt the scratch. He felt how easy it would be to let go and just take her —but he resisted. He pushed it all away and removed his teeth from her skin.

Jareth closed his eyes and pressed his forehead to the crook of her neck, needing to slow down, then did as she so obviously wanted and reached up a little higher to brush along her flattened tongue with his fingertips. She licked them eagerly, and then even more so when she felt his dick harden and throb against her hip. He growled under his breath, focusing, then stuck his middle and index fingers deeper into her mouth, lathering them in her hot, sticky saliva with a few steady thrusts before pulling out and reaching down.

Sarah felt his hand on her inner thigh, the physical contact making her spine go rigid. She could feel the wetness of her saliva as he trailed it along the skin, the feeling turning cold in his wake as he traveled higher to her groin. She closed her eyes tightly as she waited, letting out a heavy breath of relief that turned to pleasure when he pressed the wet pads of his fingers into the cloth covering her pussy.

He pushed in a downward motion, splitting her lips from over her underwear and then pulling back up until the fabric became wet. Sarah spread her legs further apart, her breaths turning into a sound of need. She could feel her cunt opening for him every time he stroked down, wanting so badly to be penetrated, then clenching tightly around nothing when he moved back up. She nearly whined when he found her clit, massaging it in firm circles until her sounds matched his rhythm.

She held him by the shoulders as he played with her, wanting to kiss him but too greedy to change pace. She simply enjoyed it, her hand reaching up into his hair and squeezing every time he teased her opening.

Jareth's breathing became hotter and labored as he kept his forehead pressed to the side of her neck. She was starting to get to him. Starting to undo his weakly crafted composure. The feeling of her soaking through her panties had his dick as hard as a rock, and it took everything he had not to rock his hips into her. Her own hips were rocking, impatient and lewd and seeking out his hand wanting to be fucked by it—

He groaned low and softly as he reached under the hem of her underwear for the first time, running bare fingers along her hot, open, slick little cunt. The urge to spread her apart and stuff his dick in her was almost too much to bear, but he did. He clenched his eyes tightly shut as he drew light circles around the parted opening, dipping the tip of his index finger in just slightly each time. The sounds she made were erotic. Were hot. Were everything that he'd imagined.

He dipped his finger in a little deeper and felt her muscles clench, trying to pull him in. He groaned again and obliged, his damp lips grazing the skin of her neck while shoving two of his fingers deep inside.

A moan escaped Sarah's mouth, but he did not give her time to adjust to the invasion. He moved his hand a little faster, drawing his fingers out to the tips before thrusting them back in, relishing in the squelching sounds her pussy made as her wetness thickened and dripped down his hand.

Gods, he wanted to fuck her. He wanted to ram his cock into her hard and fast and fuck her full until the cum streamed out of her. His hand thrusted roughly at the thought, his knuckles curling into her walls until they hit a sweet spot. She jolted higher up the wall, her moans turning to high whimpers as she endured it, bracing him and making no other move at all while he explored her.

Her leniency turned him on. Her submission. The raw eagerness of her cunt sucking him in, shamelessly holding him and quivering with the yearning to have his cock instead. He could feel the precum from his swollen erection dampening his pants. He could feel the heat building up behind his eyes. It would be so easy —to have her —to take her. She would be grateful. She would love him. She would take everything he had. She would take it over and over, in every orifice, in every way he could imagine. She would please him. Yield for him. Thank him. Her body would be wet, her skin hot, flushed, swollen. He would make such a beautiful mess of her, mark her. The sounds of it would be even more beautiful, would be low, and rapacious and agonized. She would be weak for him. Limp. She'd look up at him and glisten, and bleed, and bruise. She would be everything, and he would do everything. He could take everything from her. Every sweet, supple little thing—

By the time Jareth realized his thoughts were not quite his own, he was fucking her with his fingers so hard his hand was going numb. He opened his eyes marginally, trying to pull away from the shadows but only lost himself in the sound of her being pleased by him. She wanted him. Fucking gods, she wanted him. The puddle of her arousal gathering in his palm was proof of it. He had not heard such sounds in years —he had not dared to seek it out. He did not trust himself. He was not competent. He would hurt her —just like he hurt that sow the day before. She knew. She'd seen it. And yet she still wanted him. She wasn't afraid.

She thought they were alone in that room, that her voice was the only one he could hear. She did not know what always lurked just shy of his ear, nor feel its grip tightening over him with claws so much deeper than her pinching nails. She did not know anything at all. She didn't know what he was imagining doing to her while she opened her legs and turned her hips up. She did not know the kind of terror that he envisioned her in, the kind of screams the whisper taunted him with —the depth of pain that was making his dick throb.

No, she did not know anything. She wanted him. She wasn't afraid.

Hold her down, the voice whispered, rumbling so nicely in his ears. Jareth's eyes rolled back and he fought off a shudder. Spread her thighs wide—wider—listen for it. Make the bones pop. He winced and shook his head into her neck, his rhythm faltering as he struggled to focus. You know she'd let you. She *wants* you to…

Her skin is so fair.

How dark can you make it?

Can you turn it black?

…can you make it bleed?

The shadow brewing over Jareth's eyes rippled and the hand holding her hip pressed to the wall trembled along with it. Visions of her bruised legs passed through his mind, but he pushed them quickly away. He was getting angry with himself. Frustrated. He needed to focus.

He needed to stop.

They needed this to stop.

Jareth opened his eyes and slowly blinked, his passion curtailed to a listless stagnancy as reason overcame the whispers, rescinding it back to the depths, and for just one fleeting moment he felt hollow. So very hollow.

But there was no joy in that feeling. His feelings did not matter. There was nothing else for it. It needed to be done. She needed to stop wanting him.

His vision was hazy, seeing nothing but the blur of Sarah's skin as he slowed his movements down and began to hook his hand up in sharp, concise thrusts. He hit the spot that had made her tense…and then hit it again. And again. He hit it over and over relentlessly, forcing the orgasm out of her whether she wanted it or not. He felt her nails dig into his shoulders through his damp shirt. He tried to ignore it.

Sarah felt the sharp climb of an orgasm twisting in her abdomen and braced, but it escalated too quickly to resist. She wanted to. She wasn't ready yet —but it seemed Jareth was and the arousal she felt from his command of her was only making the situation more imminent.

She arched her head back when it hit her, peaking high at the very tips of his fingers. Jareth must have felt it too, must have enjoyed it with her from the way he paused and groaned, pushing the back of his hand with his knee so he penetrated her even deeper. She rocked her body to waves of pleasure as her knees tried to squeeze themselves shut, bracing him in place and drawing out the feeling for as long as possible. Jareth stood still for her and let her cling to him. He stood still…silently.

The feeling of Sarah's orgasm clenching her cunt around his fingers so beautifully was almost too much for Jareth to bear. He nearly lost it then and there and ripped her from the wall, his hand trembling with the compulsion to slam her to the floor and tear the dress from her body, exposing every inch of her to his unbridled, violent inclinations. He allowed himself just one second to savor that fantasy, to commit to memory the feeling of her slick, cushiony insides pulling on him and begging him to do all of those terrible things.

The sounds she let out as her breathing settled were even more alluring, so weak and breathy, caught between two perfect lips. He distanced himself from it as much as possible. It was hard to endure when caught between that in one ear and a low, rumbling laughter in the other.

He pulled his hand out of her slowly as she came down, standing oddly silent as she tensed and shuddered against an aftershock. She did not realize the change in his demeanor, however, and turned to look at him, her eyes livid and expecting more. She even pulled him in by the shoulders but was rejected when his body went noticeably stiff.

Sarah paused, her eyes flickering down as her brow twitched. His eyes were lowered from her, like he did not want to face her, and she quickly realized that despite her urgency he would not look up at her. Why…wouldn't he look at her?

Her hands gripped him tighter, about to tug again —but she stopped herself, getting the sense that something… something was not right..

Confusion swept in, but that was fleeting.

An uneasy feeling that she could not explain began to well in Sarah's stomach, too many quiet seconds passing and yet none at all. She opened her mouth to speak but didn't, only watching as he finally did something and dropped her skirt back to the floor. Sarah stared at him, feeling a sudden wall erect between them that heightened her guard along with it. That feeling in the pit of her stomach festered…watching the way he reached up and callously wiped his hand clean on her dress.

She was so bemused she actually let him finish, then stood with a baited breath when he silently pulled away from her —when he pulled away and, with a crushing dispassion, lifted his gaze to stare her dead in the eye. The edge she saw there was cold. Ice cold. Deep down, she already knew it was over, but—

"Are you satisfied?" he asked.

Sarah blinked.

"W—"

"That's what you really came here for, right?" Jareth cut her off, eyes flickering down to her groin and back. "Validation?" He stared into her eyes, waiting until he saw the realization hit her, then his cold look turned to stone. "I've told you what you wanted to know. I could not care less about that woman. I merely had fun crushing those asinine hopes of hers. So, If you've finished marking your territory, you can leave now as well," he went on, then looked away from her and took a healthy step back. Like he was adverse. Like he couldn't stand the sight of her. Sarah only gaped. "I hope it was good enough to last. I'd rather you all stop bothering me with your self-indulgent antics."

Sarah blinked. She had no response. She just stood there, against the wall, completely silent.

My…my what?

She didn't even know, but then she said, so quietly,

"You think I came here…just because I'm jealous of her?"

Jareth's stare bore through her —conveying that same shadow of odium she'd sensed the day before. She could not believe her ears when he uttered the words, so spitefully,

"Tell me I'm wrong."

Sarah did not. She could not. She was shocked, beside herself —but knew even in that quagmire that somehow he had just made an utter, disgusting fool out of her. Her heart started racing as her mind reeled, catching up and letting her know that not only was she confused, but she was also downright humiliated. She stared at him and his detached, heartless expression that looked down on her and the hot tears she felt quickly building up and blurring her vision, and knew that he could see them too. He could see and he…did not care.

It was…a lie?

He was…just humoring her?

Giving her what she wanted.

He'd…he'd just used her, hadn't he? Used her body and her emotions against her to prove some point that she was struggling to understand. What she did understand was that he did not want her there. He did not want her to meddle, to care, or even to fulfill any visceral need. No, he did not want her at all.

Sarah realized at that moment that she'd just been dealt more hurt than she'd ever experienced in her entire life, and she'd never felt smaller. It was wretched. Indignant. But not half as deplorable as the dismissal and outright scorn she felt coming from him now. She didn't understand. What had just happened? He was so passionate. She felt it. There was no way…no way he was faking it, that all of that was just him placating her. She was not that selfish. She would have noticed—

"Well?" he asked, and she blinked out of her daze.

Her look on him renewed, her vision clearing as anger quickly took place of shock —her last defense to keep herself from crying. Her lip quivered as she clenched her teeth, fighting for every ounce of composure she could muster just to bite out a weak and petty, "Fuck you."

Her voice broke anyway and she hated that sound. She absolutely refused to cry, but the feeling rising in her chest was out of her control. Her face twisted up as she impulsively swung a fist to hit him. He caught her wrist mid-air and held it. Like it was nothing. Like he could subdue and be done with her at his will. He did not reply, but the steadiness of their eye contact spoke volumes. He did not need her. He did not want her. It was all a game. A childish game with a childish girl.

With nothing left but battered pride, Sarah ripped her arm out of his grasp, turning herself sharply away and pitifully muttering the words, "Just go to hell then…you fucking asshole."

And then she practically ran, tucking her head low as she left then and there and headed straight to her room. Tears finally fell along the way, the echo of her weak, pathetic sobs trailing behind her. She was so upset she couldn't stand it, feeling more sorry for herself than the day that'd brought her there. She passed by one sentinel after another, and another and another lining the hall, but of course…she didn't think about that.

---

Jareth waited until he could no longer hear her muffled cries before exhaling, having forced himself to stand stock still lest she see through him or worse, he chase her down and take it all back. When she was gone, he turned away from the doorway and grimaced, leaning his forehead and tightly fisted hands against the wall.

He hated himself. He hated the look he just put on her face. He hated the sound of her tears and the disdain she must now hold for him. His shoulders tensed and shook in vexation, fighting back the wretched, awful voice hollering at him to follow her. Follow her. FOLLOW HER—

With a frustrated growl Jareth pulled back and slammed his forehead against the wall as hard as he could, indifferent to the pain but relieved by the feeling of blood trickling down to his brow as the skin split open. Of course, that hardly released the thing spinning in his head or silenced the voice. He was at a loss. He had no idea what to do.

He just needed her gone. He did not trust himself. He did not want to hurt her. She was the only one he truly cared not to hurt. He was a monster because it was for that very reason that she became the thing he wanted to hurt the most. He was disgusting and deserved to be alone. She needed to stay away. If she refused to fear him, then hating him would have to do. It was better that way. He'd been selfish by accepting her proposal, but that didn't mean he didn't want to protect her.

Jareth's hands achingly dug into his hair and pulled at his scalp, his head curling down as his face twisted into a painful scowl. He ignored the jeering sounds of a million screaming voices and the crawling feeling of a million hands poking and pushing and scratching from the inside out. He ignored everything beyond what he'd just done to the only person who seemed to give a damn about him, feeling sorry for himself and her and everything.

What would have happened had she lost that day? What would he have done had she agreed to stay behind? He thought of that often but was never able to form an answer. He was reluctant to imagine it. She would probably be long gone by now.

But there was no point in asking what ifs. He was passed the point of taking risks, let alone believing in anything. His failure was all but inevitable. He would be dead within the year —if not from the mania, then from the executioner's ax. He wondered if she knew about that, if she would bother trying so hard if she did. The truth was that it was all wasted. Every effort, every second that had passed since she stepped foot on the island. There was nothing to help. It was never going to be alright. There was no getting better. All he was capable of now…was dragging her down with him.

Jareth's forearms scraped against the rough stone of the wall as he slowly lowered to his knees, gripping his forehead tight with anguish before sinking abjectly to the floor.

---

A/N— Boy...things just keep getting worse for those two, don't they?

Don't worry, there is a light at the end of the tunnel and it is coming soon —and maybe like...idk, a dose of actual communication lol.

Angsty Jareth is fun. This story is largely just me grinning maniacally while I torture him. Oh, and Sarah being an emotional bulldozer. Present moment of weakness aside, gurl ain't playin that bullshit XD

I wonder what's going to happen at that wedding ;)