Sarah's Lord and Ladies-in-waiting ushered her to the throne room without excitement. Their feet moved slowly, Pyotr's grip on her arm was lax; their new toy was losing its shine.

As they entered the throne room, each of the Fae dropped into deep curtsies with heads bowed low. Sarah kept her chin held high, although her hands were folded meekly in front of her.

"My dear subjects, you may take the day off," said the king, rising from his throne.

Pyotr's eyebrows shot so high and fast, Sarah was surprised the white powder he had caked on didn't crack and flake off.

"Your majesty," said Pyotr in surprise, dipping once more into a low bow. Natalia and Sephira followed suit and dropped into curtsies without objection. The trio scurried off and were gone before Jareth reached Sarah.

"My darling girl, I don't see why you can't escort yourself today. I have much business to attend to."

Sarah's jaw dropped in shock. Surely he wasn't going to let her roam the castle alone? He raised her hands to his lips and kissed each one. His fingers found her manacles and gently stroked them. "Just a formality, really."

Sarah's shock passed. "Thank you, Jareth," she said, well aware she shouldn't be thanking him for what was rightfully hers, freedom. Still, she would repay kindness with kindness. She leaned up and planted a light kiss on his cheek. The king's multicolored eyes widened in surprise, and his hold on her hands slackened. Before he could change his mind, Sarah turned and left the throne room. The hair on the back of her neck bristled, the hairs on her arms stood on end; would he pursue her? Sarah waited for a hand to close around her arm, for chains to sprout from her manacles, for a voice to call after her. Still, she walked freely down the corridors.

Now that she was free, she wasn't sure what to do. Goblins mulled about the hallways, some yapping away while others carried weapons or sacks of vegetables. Sarah found herself wandering, her feet simply carrying her aimlessly. She drifted like a wraith through the already cold and sullen corridors; freedom already felt so foreign.

Gradually, her heart began to race; she remembered herself. She couldn't stop the urgency in her step as she made her way to the ground floor. She needed to find a door.

Whatever "certain powers" the king had granted her led her through the castle; the way was clear as crystal to entered a corridor lined with windows, each of them barred. Surely one of them must open? She checked each one of them, but not a single one had an opening large enough for her to fit through. She felt the strange tug within her pulling her forward. The corridor emptied into a room bathed in light. The walls were set with several large, glass-paned windows. Sarah's heart was in her throat. She tried to open the first window, but it was locked. She rattled it in it's frame with a huff before moving onto the second one. Nonesuch luck with that one either. A small cry of despair escaped her lips as she moved onto the third one; it opened, swinging easily upward towards the high ceiling. Sarah gasped and a smile spread across her face. This was it, this was her chance. In her elation she forgot her shackles and reached her hand towards the outdoors.

Her fingers were stopped by an invisible wall. She saw a faint ripple of green light pass through the empty air as her palm thrust against the invisible barrier.

"No," she whispered. She pressed both hands against the barrier, she leaned against it with her full weight, but it didn't budge. Again the ripple of green passed across the space like a ripple across a pond. Outside a rosebush was growing, and a ladybug passed across one of the leaves. It was so close, Sarah could reach out and touch it...but she couldn't. She slammed her fist against the invisible enchantment with an exclamation. The ripple of green silently flashed, which Sarah found completely unsatisfactory. She'd hoped it'd smash like glass or at least make some sort of noise, but it hadn't even hummed; the ladybug didn't even spook. Sarah huffed; this was no time for petty outbursts, she had to find a door. The pull within her started again as if responding to her wish. She followed it through the room and into the next hallway, off of which a tiny alcove bubbled like someone had forgotten this side of the castle also needed a door. Into the alcove was set a door of dark wood and intricate carvings. Although beautiful, it was set into the stone wall without a frame, and an old, rusty umbrella holder sat to one side. Sarah tried to pull the door open; was it locked? The hinges didn't move nor make a sound. Sarah tried again, grunting from the effort, and the hinges began to squeak. A smile tugged at the edges of her mouth, but she grit her teeth and pulled harder before she could let some hopeful elation break her concentration. Her muscles strained, but the door came open with a piercing squeak from its hinges. Sarah reached out her hand.

A ripple of green passed in front of her eyes, almost like she was looking through a children's toy bubble-wand that had been dipped in suds and held a soapy bubble in its frame ready to blow. Her fingers touched an invisible barrier.

"No, no, no! Damn you!" Sarah bashed both her fists against the barrier until her fists turned red. She kicked it once with a scream and sunk to the floor. The king's magic was too strong. Unless she found a way to remove her manacles, she couldn't leave the castle.

A day of wandering aimlessly through hallways and ballrooms and root-cellars left Sarah feeling empty, although she had had more than enough to eat, more than she'd grown accustomed to in her ever-changing, ever-captive schedule. Goblins milled about, but none of them addressed her. They'd stare and whisper, loudly, but they didn't care to speak with her; that was fine by Sarah, she wasn't in the mood for talking today. The king had said she'd be his queen, the king had proposed, if you could call it that. Surely the wedding was approaching fast. There wasn't a single escape plan in her head, there wasn't any way out that she could see or think of. She was trapped in the castle, and Jareth wasn't above physical force; chances of freedom looked slim. But, she had enjoyed a day of (relative) freedom, and perhaps a good night's sleep would bring some fresh ideas to her mind...

~.*.~ ~.*.~ ~.*.~ ~.*.~ ~.*.~ ~.*.~

Sarah woke before the Lord and Ladies-in-waiting could retrieve her. The dim light filtered through the slits of her eyelids; she wanted to stay in bed, she wanted five more minutes before she had to face reality.

But this was no time for indulgences. The king meant to marry her, and he meant to marry her quick. She rose, fingering her manacles as she did. They meant she couldn't leave, but she had to try. The silver light of the morning glinted gold off her shackles as she made her way to the balcony.

"Okay, so I can go out here…" Sarah breathed deep and long, the fresh air filling her lungs. Solace. A moment of quiet before the storm. Down below, there was only one solitary soul wandering through a courtyard. They were too far away to tell if they were even fae or goblin. The nearest rooftop was a far drop.

"I can make it," Sarah said out loud, the only other sound the bubbling of the fountain.

It was a far drop.

Sarah inhaled and held her breath, placing her hands upon her head and turning around to face the castle. What if she broke her leg? What if she broke her legs? Then she'd crawl, she had to get out. She turned back to face the Labyrinth and strode purposefully to the edge; she set her hands on the railing. She'd climb over to the other side, then she'd hang down, and then she'd drop. Sarah lifted her leg to climb over.

An invisible wall stopped her heel. "What?" Sarah asked in a whisper. She placed her foot back on the ground and tried to reach her hand over. Again, she met an invisible wall. "No!" she cried, slamming both her palms against the barrier.

"I told you you're not getting out," came a voice behind her. Standing in the bedroom threshold was Jareth, the Goblin King. "Not with those pretty bracelets," he smirked. He stood there in an ensemble of all black. His shirt was long sleeved and made of several, layered pieces of leather; they looked like scales. His eyes were lined with thick, black ink, exaggerating their already piercing colors.

Sarah remained in insolent silence and turned up her chin. Jareth turned and wordlessly entered the bedroom; Sarah saw nothing to do except follow. Jareth was waiting for her, both hands on his hips.

"I do believe it's bad luck for the groom to see the bride before the wedding, but I just couldn't help myself." He approached her and tried to take her into his arms.

"Monster!" Sarah cried as she brushed past him. She remained facing away from him. "I will never marry you. I will never love you." Sarah felt his hands close around her upper arm. He slowly turned her towards him.

"You will marry me…" he grasped her by the arms, "but you need not love me."

With a violent shove, he thrust her towards the wall. Her enchanted manacles jerked her hands above her head and mounted themselves onto the walls like dungeon shackles. Sarah cried out and struggled against her golden fetters, but it was no use. The king approached her, slowly, each footfall deliberate while his viperous eyes bore into her. His gaze never wavered while Sarah tried to kick her feet away from the walls. Her whimpers only enflamed him.

"Oh, Sarah…" He placed his hands in hers and leaned against her, pushing her skin against the cold stone of the wall. His forehead nearly rested on hers, his white-blond locks falling against her face. He ran his hands down her outstretched arms, down to cradle her neck. Perspiration beaded on his forehead, and he took his hands from her neck to let them hover over her breasts. He trembled, as if it took all his strength not to touch her. His hands shook. "Oh, my Sarah." He fell against her, his hands lightly brushing her breasts as they came to rest on her shoulders. Sarah's wrists pulled painfully against the manacles as she bore the weight of him. She strained under his body; his head rested against the side of her face, his knees leaned against her legs, and he was breathing heavily in her ear. It was almost pitiful. He continued, "Can you not see that we're fated to be together? I know you desired me, once. We belong to each other, and soon you will belong to me so completely that eternity could not part us. I am a slave to you, I am a slave to this body of yours. I rule you now, soon I will rule you as if we were one; why do you not accept this? I know you wanted me, want me; we are meant to be. We are simply meant to be together as one." His hands slid up to caress her face as he stood up to face her, still slumped as if he were bearing a great weight. "The Labyrinth is your home, your strong will is equal to magic. I've seen your dreams, your desires; I'm giving you what you want. Submit to me Sarah. You will be a queen. You will be mine. I will be yours."

He pressed his mouth onto hers, his heavy breathing huffing in sharp gusts from his nostrils. His fingers dug into her shoulders. Sarah hung limp from her shackles. When he broke their kiss, he traced his thumb over her chin. "They'll prepare you soon. The wedding will commence today, as planned. I suggest you don't make a scene; you'll only entertain my court." With a final caress of her lip, Jareth blinked away without a trace. Sarah strained against the golden manacles that chained her to the wall, her high-pitched grunts echoing around the empty chamber as she struggled. It was no use.

She hung there like a forgotten prisoner, until the door to her bedroom gently opened. Dabella tread lightly into the chamber, followed by a downcast Kinsleigh.

"Lady Sarah, we're here to prepare you. Your Lord and Ladies-in-waiting won't be here for a while." Dabella looked at her wide-eyed, as if she hoped the lack of Pyotr and his crones would offer some solace. Kinsleigh approached softly, showing she meant no harm, and placed a hand on the golden manacles. The fixtures on the wall disappeared, but the golden cuffs remained around her wrists; Sarah rubbed them gingerly. The two Fae led her to the bathroom without exchanging a word. Again they took her through the ceremonial bath. Sarah actually relaxed into their touches; they were soft, they were kind, and they were not trying to take anything from her. The oils, the sponges, the towels, it all felt like armor before battle. That familiar chest of vials and potions lay open near the tub. Kinsleigh took the vial of powdered unicorn horn. She dipped a tiny paintbrush into it and held it over Sarah's head; she began to tap the brush's handle, to flick and sprinkle the dust all over Sarah and her naked body. Sarah couldn't help but breath the stuff in as the strange, small cloud engulfed her in its sparkles. She gave a little cough, but on the next inhale she felt her whole body buzz with energy, like every cell was coming alive with pure magic. She gasped and her eyes widened in shock; magic felt good.

"Pure magic," she whispered to herself. Every inch of her skin glittered. Kinsleigh returned the vial to the chest. She turned to drain the bath while Dabella went to retrieve a thick towel. The Fae moved slower than usual, like they were just as reluctant as Sarah. Sarah eyed the chest again.

Dabella wrapped Sarah in a towel and reached out a hand towards her.

"If you'll permit me, my lady?" Her eyes remained downcast, her fingers began to move in almost imperceptible movements.

"To what?"

"It prevents pregnancy." Dabella's eyes flicked up to her for a brief moment before looking once again at her fingers. She said nothing, but Sarah could tell she was performing magic—and was glad for it. Sarah swallowed thickly; her situation suddenly became very, very real. Kinsleigh took an undergarment slip and pulled it carefully over Sarah's head. It was as thin as a fairy's wing, but at least the pockets for her breasts were supportive, sturdy, and roomy. The handmaidens turned away to lead Sarah to her fate. Sarah shifted in her slip and followed, stepping carefully.

Her Ladies and Lord-in-waiting were indeed waiting for her after the ceremonial bath. The dress they all held between them looked heavy, like the weight of the situation was woven into its stiches. The skirt was as voluminous as a summer cloud, the long sleaves were stitched with lace, and every inch of the bodice was embroidered with gems. Most of the gems were diamonds or crystals, but interspersed throughout them were occasional amethysts of every pastel color of the rainbow; the effect was dazzling. The skirt shimmered with its own rainbow sheen, catching the light and reflecting it in flashes of piercing color.

The unkind fingers of the Fae soon scraped over her body as they forced her into the heavy dress. Gloves of lace were jammed onto her fingers. Her makeup was much like it had been at her first ball here in the Labyrinth, simple yet accentuating her features, only this time her lips were painted cherry red. Sarah waited for them to yank at her hair, but instead of pulling her locks into an elaborate up-do, Sephira brushed her hair with a silver brush. Sarah stared in shock as her hair that reached no further than her chest began to lengthen. It grew longer until it reached the small of her waist. Natalia then plaited her hair into a simple French braid that hung down the middle of her back, weaving a ridiculously long white ribbon throughout. She tied the ribbon in a bow at the end of Sarah's braid.

"It's tradition that the king-groom undoes his bride's hair before the marriage bed," said Sephira in that sultry voice Sarah had long since begun to hate. Sarah looked at herself in the mirror; despite the fact the bodice had long sleeves and reached her throat, the keyhole neckline plunged and gaped, revealing much more than she would ever dare on her real wedding day. Pyotr threw a veil over her head; it didn't pin into her hair, it was simply a large, gauzy sheet of opaque material that made her look like more like a spirit ready to haunt than approach the marriage altar.

"It's time," said Pyotr, helping her step into a lacy pair of white pumps. He offered her his arm in an characteristic gesture of gentlemanly courtesy; Sarah supposed it was simply ceremony. When they stepped through the door, they blinked away to another location. Sarah found herself standing behind two giant wooden doors, and she and Pyotr were alone. Sarah began to tremble. "I hope you are worthy of ruling this kingdom," said Pyotr with another of his verbal jabs, but if Sarah didn't know any better, she would've swore he sounded as if he were pleading with her.

The doors swung open.

Before them lay a long, red carpet cutting through a sparkling, glittering crowd. The Fae were adorned in dazzling finery that Sarah couldn't have imagined in her wildest dreams. Gemstones, lace, flowers, live birds, billowing material…this would've been a fairytale wedding in someone else's dream. At the end of the red carpet, standing in front of a pulpit with his hands smugly clasped behind his back, was the Goblin King.

An organ began to play.

"This is it, princess," whispered Pyotr as he pulled her forward, linked arm in arm. Sarah's feet wouldn't move, but Pyotr pulled her forward nonetheless. It felt as though she wasn't in control of her body, like her feet were moving on their own and she was simply drifting; this couldn't be happening. The organ was playing dissonant, grating tones. The melody was macabre and eery. The organ played on like a funeral dirge.

Sarah found herself being passed off to the Goblin King. Jareth took her hands and raised them to his lips for a gentle kiss. "You look beautiful, Sarah," he said with a voice like poison. He wore a black, silken tuxedo, out of which white lacy frills flowed like foam at the foot of a waterfall. Behind the altar stood the Wiseman; did he have tears in his eyes? His bird-hat, for once, seemed at a loss for words, yet a bowtie was tied around his long neck. It would've been comical, under different circumstances.

A hush fell over the large crowd. The ballroom they stood in had no chairs, and all the Fae scrambled for a view of their almost-queen. Overhead a gargantuan crystal chandelier dangled, shimmering like a thousand stars. Sarah noticed that the room was larger than she had anticipated and was lined with tables spread with hundreds of trays covered in silver cloches; a chamber orchestra was crowded in a corner, so the ceremony must give way to an immediate feast and reception. Tears came to her eyes; she always imagined her father, stepmother, and Toby by her side when she married.

"Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today…" began the Wiseman as he read from a thick book lying open on the pulpit between them. Sarah could hardly believe that the ceremony was so similar to an Aboveground wedding. The Wiseman droned on, his eyes shifting nervously between the two figures before him. Sarah thought her heart would beat out of her chest. Her breathing came in shallow, ragged gasps. Jareth wore a sly grin, his eyes sparkled like a vipers before the kill.

"Do you, Jareth, King of the Labyrinth, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?"

"I do." He looked at Sarah like he would devour her whole.

"Do you, Sarah Williams, take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?" The Wiseman sounded unsure. Sarah couldn't answer. Her lips felt like they were glued shut; she wanted to scream no, she wanted to shout and curse, but the overwhelming sensation of drowning bore down on her as she realized there was no way out of this nightmare.

"She does," Jareth answered for her. The Wiseman was silent, he looked between the two of them for a long time. Jareth cleared his throat.

"I now pronounce you…husband and wife. You may now…kiss the bride," the Wiseman finished, deflated.

Jareth lifted her veil and folded it in half to drape over her head in a way that made her look like Mary, had she been draped in blue instead of white. Jareth wore a light peach lip gloss that shimmered like the chandelier above. This was it, he would seal her fate with a kiss. This was it.

"I've waited so long for this," he said, low and eager. He stared at her, savouring the image of her, savouring her figure in white, unspoiled and ready for the taking. He leaned in.

"STOP!"

Gasps and cries rang around the room. Jareth did stop, shocked. He quickly looked up, completely knocked off guard; who dared speak against the king?

A figure stepped out of the crowd and into the aisle, and the other Fae backed away, their cries and questions rising in confusion at what they saw. Sarah herself cried out.

Standing there on the red carpet, dressed in the same attire he had worn at that evil engagement ball, was Jareth. He wore the masquerade mask that she'd seen only once when she'd glanced at him in the crowd as she spun from Fae to groping Fae. How could he be in two places at once? Was this the real Jareth after all, was the man beside her an imposter? Who could be the king's doppelganger?

"Stop…" the man said again, removing his mask. Further gasps went around the crowd before the present denizens fell silent as the grave. The man with the king's face finished his protest,

"…brother."

~.*.~ ~.*.~ ~.*.~ ~.*.~ ~.*.~

Sorry for the long, long, far too long wait. The past months have not afforded me time to write, but it looks like that's going to change, at least in the immediate future. The story will progress quite quickly from here on out, and I hope you're enjoying it thus far!