She shoved her chair back from the table and stood with such violence that the chair flew back and slid across the stone floor. Her chest was heaving.
"Sarah." His eyes were hard; he hadn't moved. The warning in his voice made her blood run cold.
"Shut up!" She clutched the knife at her side, not bothering to try and conceal it anymore. Oh God, this was so stupid! He was between her and the door, he was so much bigger than she was, he was magic for crying out loud. What was she going to do? She flinched back as he rose and stepped back from the table. "Stay away from me!"
"Is dinner and a little conversation really too much to ask?" he asked bitterly.
"Oh of course, how silly of me." She could hear her voice getting higher as her panic rose. "Why else would you stalk me, kidnap me—"
"Don't be so dramatic!" he snapped.
He was getting angrier; his face was flushed and his eyes were flashing, just like he'd been the last time. She was so, so screwed, but she couldn't stop herself from babbling. "It's the truth! And you really don't like that, do you? You can't stand to be told what you're actually doing." She was sobbing now, terrified, and acutely aware of the bed only a few paces behind her. He took a step towards her, and all her bravado vanished—she screamed and brandished the knife like a talisman. "Please don't hurt me!" Tears streamed down her cheeks, and it was all she could do to stop from breaking down into sobs.
He stopped, a wary look on his face. "Sarah," he finally said. His face was not exactly friendly, but did not look nearly as angry as he had been. "Sarah, I do not wish to hurt you." He took another step towards her, hands held out to his sides.
Sarah closed her eyes, keeping the knife thrust out between them. Her breathing was very fast now, and an awful frantic feeling was building in her chest, like she couldn't get enough air. She heard the soft footfalls on the stone floor as he closed the distance between them. It didn't matter. There was nowhere to run or hide; even if she managed to cut him with the knife, it would only make him angrier. His hands gasped her wrist and fingers and she felt him take the knife from her hands. She collapsed to the ground and buried her face in her hands. That was it. There was nothing she could do—she had no say in what was going to happen next.
"Sarah." His voice was different than she had even heard it before. Almost warm. She opened her eyes. He had crouched down so that his eyes were on a level with hers, and he was looking at her with a strange expression on his face—curiosity and a detached kind of concern.
He studied her like that for a moment before sighing and getting up. Sarah stared at the polished stone floor in front of her and tried to breath slowly, fighting to force the air into her lungs. She heard him moving away from her back towards the bed, heard the rustle of cloth.
When he came to her again, he held a pillow in each hand. He held one out to her; dumbfounded, she accepted it mechanically.
"Come here," he said, in that same almost-kind voice. He offered her his hand to help her up, but quickly withdrew it when she cringed away.
"Come," he said again, his mouth pressed in a thin line. He was impatient, but seemed to be making an effort to restrain himself. He gestured towards the fire. "There is a draft—you should come sit where it is warm." When she only eyed him warily and did not move, his eyes narrowed. "I only wish to talk," he said.
She took a moment to consider her complete lack of other options before following him to the fireplace and sitting across from him on the pillow he had given her. The warmth of the flames felt good on her skin; she suddenly noticed that she was very cold.
He rummaged around the room before coming to join her, bringing with him the two goblets of wine from the table. Sitting, he held one out to her.
"No," she said quickly, flinching as though he had offered her a live snake.
"You're white as chalk and you're shivering," he said, irritated. "Take it."
She bit back an angry retort and took the goblet, holding it in front of her with both hands but making no move to drink it. That seemed to irritate him even further, but he said nothing, only taking a long drink from his own goblet before turning to face her.
"I believe," he said carefully, as though delivering a practiced speech, "That we have got off on the wrong foot."
Sarah glared into her goblet, but dared say nothing.
"We will start over," he said. He took another long swallow of wine, placed his goblet on the hearthstone before the fireplace and looked at her expectantly.
She started back at him. "Really?" she said incredulously.
His expression was all cold dignity. "I enjoy your company better," he said icily, "when you are not screeching and sniveling."
Fear suddenly gone, it was self-preservation that just barely prevented her from throwing the contents of her goblet into his face. She slammed it down instead, and the spilled wine sizzled on the hot hearthstones. "You unbelievable son of a bitch," she said. "Where do you get off saying that to me after what you did?!"
"You were rude," he said. His voice was cool, but his eyes flashed. "I was...disappointed."
"Really? That's what you have to say after you…you…" Her face twisted and she couldn't finish. Her anger vanished, and her stomach churned. She couldn't bear to look at him anymore, so she turned her face to the fire.
"But I didn't intend for that to happen Sarah," he said—and where did he get off looking annoyed? "That is not what I want."
She turned back to face him and spat bitterly: "That counts for a lot less than you seem to think."
Turning back to the fire, she drew her knees back up to her chest and stared into the flames. Her anger had gone just as suddenly as it had come, and now she felt strangely calm. It wasn't as if there was anything she could do. He would do whatever he wanted, she couldn't stop him, and eventually whatever spell held her here would fade, like it had the last time, and she would be home. Besides, she was so, so tired. She rested her head on her knees and closed her eyes.
For a while neither of them said anything. Sarah had almost drifted off to sleep when she heard liquid sloshing and cracked her eyes open. The Goblin King was refilling her goblet.
"Drink," he said urgently, sitting back on his heels. "It will help. You don't look well."
She lifted her head off her knees, angry and incredulous. On top of everything else that paternal attitude was really the last straw. "You know what? I'm not well. I didn't sleep for three whole nights after you dragged me here the last time. I'm still terrified every time I close my eyes. I lie awake at night and wonder if tonight is the night you're going to drag me away again—and what you might do."
She had expected him to get angry again, but his expression was blank and he was sitting very still. She kept going.
"I called off work for two days," she said, "I was too scared to leave the house. And when I finally did go back, my manager sent me home after I screamed and dropped a tray full of entrees when someone brushed up against me. I haven't been back since—I'm probably going to get fired, and I don't know how I'll pay for my apartment." She leaned forward. "The manager called my father afterwards, said she was worried. When he called, I couldn't pick up the phone—I didn't know what to say to him. After a few days of that he called the police, and I had to drag myself out of bed and splash water on my face and smile and convince them that everything was just fine—because what else could I say?" Crying again, she stopped to compose herself.
"I did not intend to hurt you. That is not what I want," he said insistently. He did not exactly seem chastened, but the air of irritation he'd had earlier was gone.
Sarah wiped her tears away angrily with her sleeve and turned to the fire. As an apology, it was pretty piss-poor. "Then why bring me back here?"
"Because I want to talk." He paused. "I want to negotiate."
That was not at all what she had expected. Bemused, she turned to face him; his expression was animated, almost excited. "Negotiate?"
"Yes," he said, leaning in closer to her. "Neither one of us is happy with things as they are. We can agree to terms, so we can both get what we want." He gestured towards her. "You may start," he said grandly, clearly feeling he was being generous
"Ok," Sarah said; the strange turn their conversation had taken made her feel a little giddy. "Send me home and never talk to me again."
"No," he said immediately, as though he had expected it. His face was carefully blank, but a strange look passed through his eyes; it was gone before she could pin it down.
Sarah threw up her hands sarcastically. "Then I guess we're done here, because that's the only thing I want." He glared, but she continued before he could speak. "You know what? Before we start...whatever this is, I want to know what you're going to get out of this. You want me here, I get that. Well, I'm already here, and you've made it clear that you can drag me back whenever you want and do pretty much whatever the hell you like to me. So what's in this for you? What else do you want?"
He didn't answer right away; he studied her for a moment before turning to the fire. Finally, he said quietly, without looking at her: "For you to stay."