Sarah lay back and closed her eyes as she felt tendrils of steam rising off the surface of the water and caressing her face. The only sounds in the room were the crackling of the fire, the faint whisper of the Goblin King turning the pages in his book, and the gentle tinkling sounds that the water made when it moved against the metal tub as she breathed. The past and the future held no interest for her—there was only the delicious present where she was free of pain and expectation.

Between heat from the water and sheer relief, she nearly fell asleep. If it were not for the attacks, she would have lost any sense of time passing altogether. Several more came and went as she lay in the bath, but each one was easier to get through than the last. Finally there came one where there was barely any pain at all, just tension, and she was able to close her eyes and keep completely still while she breathed through it.

As it was winding down, the Goblin King spoke:

"Tell me when the last one has passed—there may be something I can do to help with any lingering effects."

"Ok," Sarah said, still a little breathless. She was beginning to feel a bit more like herself. Her whole body still ached keenly, but if she did not move too much she could push the pain into the background and ignore it. Her brain, no longer preoccupied with just ensuring her survival from one moment to the next, began to raise certain thoughts for her consideration. Suddenly she was painfully aware of the fact that she was lying in a bathtub, fully clothed and not able to move, in the bedroom of…what was he exactly? Her kidnapper? Her enemy? Some kind of fairy tale monster?

Sarah snuck a quick glance at him over her shoulder. He had draped himself over the armchair, one leg thrown over an armrest, the other bent and tucked against his body. In one hand, he held a book the size of a dictionary, balancing the thick spine carelessly in his fingers. His other hand supported his chin, his elbow resting on the other arm of the chair. The expression on his face was distracted—his brow was furrowed, eyes narrowed, his mouth set in a tight line, as though he was unable to focus his thoughts.

It was hard to reconcile the domestic, almost endearing image of the man in front of her with the reality of what he had done. She remembered the careful way he had held her as he carried her to the tub and lowered her in, the look in his eyes when he saw her writhing on the ground. She would have expected him to be angry that she had broken the bargain, but instead he had seemed almost afraid.

Sarah caught a glimpse of her reflection, wavering and distorted, in the gently rippling bathwater, and glared when she saw the pensive, lonely look on her face. What did it matter that he had helped? Was she supposed to be grateful, when he was the one who had put her in this situation in the first place? Spied on her, kidnapped her, slapped her around and tricked her into making the bargain with him when she was out of her mind with fear and lack of sleep? Why should she care how he felt about her if that was what he chose to do about it? Instead of trying to understand him, she should be focusing on how to protect herself—how to escape.

And then she had a very interesting thought.

Her biggest obstacle in forming a plan to extricate himself from this trap that he had laid for her was lack of information—and that here she sat, alone in a room with the one person who could probably tell her everything she needed to know, if she could figure out the right way of asking him. A man who was convinced that he loved her and was probably very eager to have a friendly conversation with her.

She had never been very good at lying. Acting was different—becoming a different person was easy compared to pretending she felt differently than she did. But if she was careful, maybe she wouldn't have to. If she could just keep her mind focused on how he had helped her tonight, try to forget about everything else he had done. What did she have to lose?

She took a deep breath, trying to center herself the way she did before a show, and cleared her throat, the sound seeming very loud in the still room.

"So…" she said, affecting a casual tone, "You're a real king?"

She heard him scoff. "I beg your pardon?"

"You know…are you really in charge of a country?"

"I'm aware of the responsibilities the role of "king' entails," he said, his voice dry. If he'd been anyone else, she would have thought that she'd offended him. "And yes. I am a 'real king'."

She could just picture the sardonic smile on his face—the carefully condescending raised eyebrow. He sounded a little curious too, as though he was wondering what brought about her sudden change in attitude towards him. Curious, but not wary. Good.

"So, am I supposed to call you 'Your Highness," or 'Your Majesty' or what?"

"Neither," he said, turning another page of his book. He still spoke in that same dry voice, but underneath she could tell that he was amused. "I've already told you what I prefer you to call me."

She ignored that. "So you have a kingdom—not just the labyrinth, but an entire kingdom?"

"Of course—I rule the Underground."

"The entire Underground?"

"Yes."

She was warming up to it now; the words were coming more easily. It didn't hurt that she was genuinely interested. "That sounds like a lot of work."

Cloth rustled, and Sarah imagined him shrugging. "The Lords and Ladies who owe me fealty handle the day-to-day affairs of their own little fiefdoms and pay me regular tribute—the Labyrinth and its goblins are my most immediate concern." His voice was disinterested, as though he found the subject boring. "These days I rarely need to intervene in anything else."

"That doesn't sound fair—if they do all the work, why do you get to be King?"

"Why does a pack of wolves follow its leader?" he asked, and she could just hear the smirk in his voice. "I assure you, it has nothing to do with distribution of labor. Or fairness."

"But if you rule the whole Underground, why are you only called the "Goblin King," and not "The King of the Underground?"

There was a long pause; finally, he said "Tradition," and she was startled by the bitterness in his voice.

She did not reply—curious as she was, she did not want to set him off.

She closed her eyes and tried to collect her thoughts as she listened to the crackling of the fire and the occasional, crisp sound of the Goblin King turning a page in his book. It sounded like the Underground was much bigger that she'd thought—though, to tell the truth, she hadn't really thought much about it. How big was it? She thought about a map she's seen of early medieval England, the tiny island divided up into eight even smaller kingdoms. Was it like that? Or was it the size of a state, like New York or California? Bigger?

She looked towards the tapestries, around where she guessed she'd found the window last time. Could it be bigger than that? Could he rule a kingdom the size of her entire world? And however big the Underground was, where was it? Where was she, really, right now?

Abruptly, she realized that it had been a long time since the last attack. She looked over at the Goblin King—he was reading his book and looked calm enough. She turned back around to face the wall.

"I think they're gone," she said nervously.

He did not say anything, but she heard him close his book and rise from the chair. As he approached, she turned around to face him, gripping the edge of the tub. What was he going to do exactly?

"Settle down," he said, but his eyes were calm and his voice was soft. "It's only a healing charm—it will undo the damage the bargain's punishment has caused—at least enough to ensure you'll be able to walk tomorrow."

He put out a hand and looked at her as though waiting for her approval. She nodded and turned away, relaxing, as best she could, against the back of the tub and closing her eyes. He placed his hand upon her forehead. His fingers felt wonderfully cool against her skin, flushed as it was from the heat of the bath. Then she gasped—the cool sensation was spreading, flowing down her cheeks, her neck, and on and on until it covered her body. It hung there for a moment, encasing her whole body in tingling coolness, before seeming to sink into her skin and fade, taking with it the last traces of pain and weariness from her sore muscles.

As the spell finished its work it left her with a glowing warm feeling, as if she'd just had a really good massage. She sighed. "Thank you," she said, a little breathless. She hadn't been fully aware of how much pain she was still in until he had taken it away. Now she felt—oh, wonderful.

She turned to look at him, but he had already returned to his place by the fire and was in the process of sitting back down. She frowned—his movements were slower than usual, and there was a slight slump to his shoulders.

"You're welcome," he said dryly, leaning back all the way back in the chair and closing his eyes. "Though, if it is not too much trouble," he added as he settled back into the chair, "I would appreciate it if you could refrain from accepting any more dubious charms from well-meaning friends. Reversing the damage done by the bargain, even after the punishment has passed, is no easy feat. I would rather not have to perform that particular spell again."

"No," she said, quickly, feeling more than a little guilty—though part of her rebelled at the feeling. After all, he was the reason she had been caught up in the bargain in the first place. "No more bargain-breaking for me—that was…" she struggled to find the right word, realized there wasn't one, and settled on: "intense."

"Yes, I expect it was—like your body was tearing itself apart, I imagine."

"While being set on fire," she added glibly, turning back around and sinking down into the tub so that only her face and ears were above the water, soaking her hair. She was feeling pleasantly lightheaded—almost giddy. Either the spell was going to her head, like some kind of magical morphine, or all the endorphins her brain must have been dumping into her body to combat the pain she was in over the last hour were finally catching up with her.

"Really? I would have compared it to being eaten alive—but fortunately I suppose neither of us is speaking from experience." She heard the sound of rustling paper—he must have opened his book again.

"You're talking about it like you know how it feels," she said idly, poking her fingertips above the surface of the water and gently swirling them around, relishing the complete lack of pain that came with the movement, the easy freedom with which her body obeyed her.

"I do."

Well, that was interesting. Sarah sat up, the weight of the water that soaked her hair dragging her down as she turned to look at him. "You tried to break the bargain?"

He did not look back—he was staring down at his book, face impassive. "Not this one. I am not an utter fool."

"Another one then," she pressed, folding her arms and leaning against the side of the tub.

"You're getting water on the floor," he said pointedly. She glared at him, and he rolled his eyes. "Yes, another one. A long time ago." He paused, then added. "When I was very young."

"As young as me?" She was too comfortable—and too curious—to put any venom in that question.

"No," he said finally, sounding thoughtful. "Not quite as young as you."

"What was the bargain?" Another long pause—he still would not look up from the book, though he had not turned a page in some time. "Come on—who am I going to tell?"

He frowned and finally looked up at her, closing his book. "An arrangement over some land," he said, sounding reluctant, as though he were giving her the information against his better judgement. "I did not fully consider the implications."

"And?"

"And, when I discovered I had been tricked, I was furious. I was determined to find a way out of it, and when I could not, I…tried to make one."

Sarah winced. "How did that work out?"

"I was bedridden for a week," he said wryly. "I was foolish and impulsive and very, very stubborn." He smiled at her, not a smirk this time, but a smile with real warmth in it. "Sound familiar, Sarah?"

She laughed a little, turning back around and settling into the tub. "For my will is as strong as yours," she recited wistfully. "And my kingdom as great." She was going to go on, but as the next words came to her lips, her smile fell. When she spoke again, she could not keep the edge out of her voice. "I guess you do have power over me now though, huh?"