Chapter One
"Dean Fogg?"
"Ah! Miss Williams. Come in. Sit down." The well-lined face smiled, the brown, somewhat milky eyes warm, though a little disconcerting.
Sarah swallowed on a dry throat and sat on the very edge of a stunning leather and mahogany arm chair. "Am I in trouble?"
Dean Fogg reached up and stroked a strange, orange-furred talisman at his throat, and closed his eyes as he breathed out an enormous sigh. When his eyes fixed on her again, she realized that there was something missing from them that had been there before. A touch of… madness. "I think not, Miss Williams, so long as we come to an understanding."
She blinked and looked around the sunlit room, the fine hairs on the back of her neck rising. "He's here, isn't he?"
"Now, Miss Williams—"
"It's Sarah, Dean Fogg, and we've been over this. There's too much of a history. I won't take his class."
The man looked at her for a time, hands folded across his desk blotter, then he leaned back in his executive chair with a heavy sigh. "I see. I am sorry to hear that, Miss Williams."
Sarah tried not to roll her eyes. She rose, clutching her bookbag to her chest. "If that's all—"
"Yes, I will be so sorry to see you go. Brakebills will have lost one of its best students."
She froze, dread creeping like ice water down her spine. "W-what?"
"Well, as you know, since you extended your education, it required a sponsorship. Every other student at your level has one, do they not?" He gave her an indulgent smile.
Sarah's stomach felt like a lead weight. "You're telling me that, that creature—"
"Now, Miss Williams, I will not have you slinging speciest remarks in my office. Sit back down." He paused for a moment as she did so. "Yes, Jareth of the many titles, King of the Goblins and adjunct professor for the last three years, has been paying handsomely for your education, Miss Williams, on the express wishes that I never speak of it to you."
Sarah narrowed her eyes. "So, why are you doing so now? And did you make an agreement with him? You know that to break your word—"
"I know damn well what I'm doing," Fogg snapped. "He hoped I wouldn't say anything. As a gentleman, I respected that wish, but now?" He leaned forward again, hands braced on the desk. "Do you have any concept of how rare a magical creature he is? And one of his prestige, his knowledge and age? Do you even know how old he is, and how much our students have benefited from his tutelage? Under his oversight, the few students he allows into his program show remarkable grasp of the elements outside of anything a human magician has showed until now. Magicians from around the known world are maiming—yes, Miss Williams, I have received limbs in offering—themselves for but a chance to listen in on one of his classes."
Fogg took a deep breath, hand going to the talisman around his neck once more. He bared his teeth. "But Professor King refuses to take any but his hand-selected few. Thirteen students, or so he has always desired, for he has always left the thirteenth spot open for none other than Sarah Williams, student extraordinaire—"
"Champion of the Labyrinth," she continued on, cutting him off, voice high. "Destroyer of Goblin Kingdoms. I don't think he's keeping that seat open because he wants to tutor me, Dean Fogg. I think he wants some power over me." The last words were said in a more normal tone. She cleared her throat. "Maybe if I told you the story—"
"Oh, he told me the story already. Showed me in one of his crystals. I wouldn't let him into the school before knowing your entire history, Miss Williams, including everything he didn't want me to see. That dreaming he put you under was almost enough to keep him out of this university forever, but he was very convincing in his explanations. All my worries have been put to rest from him. But from you?" He clicked his tongue and shook his head, reaching for a short glass of brandy on the desk. He smiled and chuckled as he took a swig. "Miss Williams, you have been a student here for six years. Typically, our programs last for three. You have chosen four sub-disciplines within your field and mastered them all. Do you know how rare that is?"
Sarah's face was flushed, and she still had the sensation that there was someone watching, and she knew exactly who that someone was like to be. "So you're blackmailing me? If I don't take this class, you're kicking me out?"
"Can you pay the tuition on your own?"
Sarah swallowed. "How much is it?"
Dean Fogg seemed to take great pleasure in finding a notepad, a pen, and then writing the figure before turning it and sliding it toward Sarah on the cluttered desk. She had to peer over various bric-à-brac to see, and when she did, she gasped. "Eighty thousand a year?" She sputtered.
"A semester," he corrected lightly. "Room and board, Miss Williams, plus standard supplies, though you often take classes and attend extracurriculars that cost extra. I believe your most expensive semester was last year. Somewhere in the range of a hundred and thirty, I believe."
Sarah crashed back into her chair and felt herself pale. She hated how weak her voice sounded. "And he paid for it all?"
"Happily, I might add. He is most interested in your ongoing education, as am I, but we are not a charity, Miss Williams, and there is a wide world waiting out there for a magician of your skill." There was a hard edge to his voice now. "I would recommend you reflect on your next move, Miss Williams. If you wish to continue your studies here, as I know you do, you will fold in History and Practices of Modern Fae Culture. Class starts next week."
"I can't believe this," she said, the words falling from numb lips.
"Or you could go home. Become the famous magician you're meant to be."
"But I need access to the lab, for—" she bit her tongue. Her project was as close to sacred to her as anything she had ever had in her life. Tears pricked in her eyes and she blinked them back, ashamed of herself. "Fine. I'll take his stupid class."
Dean Fogg pushed away from the desk and rose, grinning broadly. "Good. I'll let him know to expect you."
Sarah blinked up at him, a frown curling her lips. "Expect me?"
"Yes, my dear. Enrollment has ended. I let him know of our meeting today, and to expect you directly afterward if all went well. You'll need to speak to each other in order to arrange for your spot in class."
"But," Sarah sputtered. "He's always kept a spot for me!"
Fogg folded his arms across his chest. "And what makes you think he continued to do so? I certainly don't know, and I'm the Dean. Go on, then. If you want to stay, go see the professor and do whatever you can to get into that class."
"Hold on," Sarah rose, and as she did her anger flared. "You're saying my staying is contingent upon enrollment in this class, but there's no guaranteed spot? How is that fair?" As the words left her mouth she flushed, realizing what she had said and how it would be interpreted by her nemesis if he truly was in the room as she had originally suspected.
"You might think it unfair, but he has held a spot for you for three years, Miss Williams. Ones generosity can only extend so far and, as I noted before, the students who leave his program are proving to be prodigies. Merlins, as it were." He gave her that smile again, the one which was more a baring of teeth than a true grin, and revealed a gleam of psychosis in those eyes before trembling fingers brushed the amulet. He let out a sigh, and when next he spoke, his voice was calm. Gentle. "Sarah. I didn't use to believe in destiny, until I was caught in a time loop and had to witness the same students be slaughtered or twisted into monsters beyond their imagining, dozens of times, until they at last succeeded. And once they did, it was as though it were always meant to be. Sure, there were trials—"
"I'm going to stop you right there," Sarah said, taking a step back and slinging her pack onto her back. "Jareth is not my destiny," she spat. "And fuck you for saying so."
"I'm going to let that slide," Fogg said, expression mild. "You misunderstand. You've been running from this meeting for years. You need to face him. Beyond that, it's up to you."
Sarah bit her lip, trembling, but the fury she felt was not to be directed at the dean, and she knew that. "I'm sorry," she whispered, then whirled and stormed out of the room, heading all the way across campus to the offices of the fae king.
###
Dean Fogg stood still for a moment after the door closed before going back around to his side of the desk and slamming the last of the amber liquid. He poured another three fingers as he spoke. "I don't suppose you need to rush to get over there."
Jareth, who did not so much appear as to seem like he had always just been there, leaned against the mantle of the fireplace, gazing into one of his crystals. Within, he could see Sarah, inky black hair streaming behind her as she sprinted across campus. "She's running. I should go."
"Before you do, I want to make one thing abundantly clear."
Jareth lifted his mismatched eyes to those of the Dean, and his fist closed over the crystal, making it disappear. "Yes?" He swallowed the urge to add human.
Sarah was human, after all.
Fogg drained half his glass before setting it down on the mahogany desk with a bang. He slid his hands into his pockets and rocked back on his heels, staring right back at the Goblin King. "Sarah is special—"
"Of course she is," Jareth snapped.
"—and it would be highly noticed if she were to disappear. Do you understand?"
Jareth tilted his head, noting as he did that the first alarm system for his office had been tripped. Sarah was only a minute or two away. "You think I aim to steal her?"
There was a pause of a heartbeat or two. "Yes."
The Goblin King barked a laugh. His door alarm was nudging at his consciousness. Sarah was knocking. Banging, more like. He hoped she didn't terrify the house goblins. That was his job. "Your concern is noted."
"Does that mean—"
Jareth disappeared from the room.
###
Fogg turned back to his drink, considering the glass for a moment before he pulled open a drawer and withdrew the bottle, taking a healthy swig.
He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, surveyed the empty room, and sighed.
"Fuck."
###
Sarah pounded on the door again. "Open up!"
She knew she must look a fright, drawing stares as she was from the few students moving through the hall outside Jareth's office. The campus has been a blur as she ignored friendly shouts from some of her colleagues; her backpack pounding against her spine as she went.
When the door opened, she did not even look, she just pushed inside, momentum taking her at least ten feet into the room before she stopped and whirled, ready to do battle.
But the words that she might have said died in her throat.
Instead of the Goblin King, three goblins stood one on top of the other, swaying slightly as they tried to close the door and bow to her in the same moment. They ended up falling in a heap to the floor, limbs akimbo. The noise was tremendous, and Sarah saw another curious student peer in through the door before it finally slammed.
"Queeny," the little goblins chorused, once they had found their feet and were all—except for one who had his hat knocked over his eyes—facing her. They bowed, the one facing away showing her an ample backside. The goblin gave a soft toot, and one of his companions whacked him so that he spun around, still blinded, before groveling on the floor.
Sarah blinked at the sight before her. "Uh, hi," she said. Aside from her last now-infamous encounter with the goblins of Jareth's kingdom, she had spent little time in their presence. The creatures were small, with charcoal-gray skin, red or yellow eyes, and stringy hair. Their clothes—not the armor and leather she had seen on the goblins of the city—were stained, yet they seemed cleaner than those she had met previously.
"Hello!" they said, again in overlapping voices, jumping up and down with excitement. "Hello, hello!"
Her lips twitched as she fought to hold back a smile. They were adorable when they were not attempting to kill her. "Where is—"
The words sounded so close to her ear that she could feel the heat of his breath. "Looking for me?"
Sarah jumped, twisting around to find Jareth the Goblin King, professor of fae history, standing only inches from her.
She had not been this close to him in years. More than a decade, at this point.
He looked different. Smoother, even though his hair was still in wild layers, shot through with streaks of glittering red and black which matched the fine suit he wore. It was cut to accentuate his long, lean body, clinging to shapely legs, the red silk shirt unbuttoned to expose the hollow of his throat. Red the color of fresh blood, or of roses, and yet it was the paleness of his skin that she watched. She wanted to touch it.
The heat was the same. The slow slide of his smile, exposing sharp and crooked teeth. And when his eyes were on her—
"What do you want?" she blurted.
Jareth tilted his head, and the birdlike movement combined with his wild silver-blond hair made it even more apparent just how otherworldly he was. "Why, Sarah, precious," he purred. "Whatever do you mean? Was it not you knocking on my door?"
Her heart was racing, especially as he continued to stare at her with that amiable smile on his lips.
Lips her own gaze could not help but flick to, so often that she knew he noticed, and still she could not help herself. Just as she could not help but stay still, though they stood far too close. She could not bear the thought of stepping back.
What is wrong with me?
###
Jareth knew what was happening, and yet only had a moment to respond.
"I knew it," he breathed, and reached for her, surprised when his gloved hand met her own, reaching for him.
There was a heartbeat of utter silence, as though they and the world held its breath at once.
Then the soul bond snapped into place.
Fingers spasmed around each other, just as Jareth could see himself through her eyes. His vision duplicated, and he heard the edges of her thoughts. A flash of pure fear, of lust, and then—
###
Sarah cried out, knees buckling a half-second before Jareth caught her around the waist, preventing her fall. He was close. Holding her. Closer than he had ever been, their fingers twined in a way that had her already-racing heart picking up a faster rhythm.
The magic in the room was palpable, and yet it was a tempestuous thing, bucking through her with the force of a summer storm. She knew that there was something that she needed to do, and then—
The weight of years. Of age beyond measure.
It made her dizzy, and it was as though she saw her own eyes from a greater height, the pale jade green glazed in confusion and desire in equal measure.
Because a moment later, following the wild zing of the magic, she was pressing her mouth to his.
It was something she did without thinking. The magic filled the room like a sea. And then he was kissing her back, pushing the backpack from her shoulders. He placed one arm about her waist while with the other he cupped her cheek, the motion tender.
Sarah wrapped her arms around Jareth's neck, pulling him as close as she could, the heated line of his body firm and containing a sense of rightness that made tears spring to her eyes. His breath was hot, and he tasted like garden herbs and sunlight and magic, wild and free.
She was drowning, yet every breath was the purest oxygen.
His teeth grazed her lips, and she whimpered. A moment later, she was filled with the taste of him as she opened to his questing tongue. The magic in the room built to a near-solid pressure, and then snapped, peppering her skin. And still she kept her mouth on him.
In flashes of pure weakness, she had imagined this moment. A kiss shared between them. But she had always pictured him pinning her against a wall, grasping her hair, pulling it taut…
Instead, he held her as though she were the greatest treasure he had ever known.
And the longer it was sweet, the more Sarah came back into herself.
When she pulled away, there came the first indicator of the mercurial tyrant she had known from her time in his sadistic Labyrinth. His hands, one at her waist and one at her hip, tightened enough to be near painful, and a growl emanated from his chest. A warning.
"Sarah," he murmured against her lips. "Mine."
And with that one word, she ripped out of his grip, despite how his fingers were like iron bands, despite the bruising she was sure she would discover later. "No!" she cried, a flash of heated rage suffusing her body. "I'm not yours."
He moved quicker than she could follow, closing the distance between them again. His head dipped down, and she shoved at his chest with closed fists, even as parts of her mind did cartwheels of anticipation.
"Stop!" she said, her voice thready.
The Goblin King grinned, and it transformed his face, making her breath catch. "Oh, Sarah," he crooned, drawing out the syllables of her name. "You felt it, didn't you? You are mine, now."
The heat in her body froze as Jareth caressed her shoulders, gloved hands moving down her bare arms until he grasped both her hands in his. He lifted them, watching her intently as he pressed a kiss into each palm.
Her thoughts seemed sluggish.
What is wrong with me? She wondered again.
The backs of gloved fingers traced the column of her throat, and mismatched eyes were intent on her.
And then, as though it had been waiting for her question, Sarah felt it.
She fell back, Jareth catching her before she tripped over her backpack. "No!" she shouted, not caring that she was mere inches from him, that her voice was high and panicked. "No, make it go away!"
"You know as well as I that is impossible," he murmured, unflinching as he gazed at her. "You know what this means. What it has always meant."
Sarah trembled and could not stop, but then there was a sense of something deep within her—so deep that she could do little more than gasp and arch her back at the sensation—radiating calm that came not from her.
It came from him.
"Sarah," he murmured again, his hands exploring. Had he touched her this much before? She could not remember. There had been dreams. Oh, dreams aplenty, but—no, never like this. "Precious Sarah. I could not have chosen better. The Fates knew what they were about."
She shuddered as one long hand trailed her ribs, just beneath her breast. She was still pressed against him, fingers curled in the soft folds of his shirt. "Goblin King—"
"Say my name, Sarah," he interrupted.
Her gaze snapped to his. Intense. Blazing. Heated. There was so much swirling in those blue and hazel eyes that she felt dizzy. "Jareth," she breathed out, nipples tightening under her thin shirt as she did. He noticed, a smirk curling his lips that made her want to slap him. "Let me go."
###
Bit by bit, the bond was locking into place. Twining through his body, his mind, his magic. And Jareth knew it was doing the same to Sarah. Fight it as she was, every touch was tightening their connection.
He needed to kiss her again.
Needed it like he needed oxygen.
Sarah was exploring him, fingers tracing twirling patterns in the silk fabric of the shirt he wore. He wondered if she even noticed she was doing it, that her hands had slipped from near his shoulders to his waist, and were lowering still.
"Let me go," she repeated, words a near-whisper.
"Sarah, Sarah," he admonished, leaning forward to brush lips against her forehead. "I'm not holding you captive."
She jerked, and he had a flicker of intention through their link before her open palm was connecting with his face.
Honestly, he wondered what had taken her so long.
"There you are," he murmured, the sting of her slap nothing compared to the satisfaction of what was to come next.
Sarah squeaked—just like a little mouse, so much so he wanted to throw his head back and laugh, but he had other business to attend to. Laughter did not suit the mood.
"Sarah," he murmured again, sliding forward to wrap his arms around her waist. She was little more than skin and bones—when was the last time she had a decent meal? He wondered. She pushed at his hands, but he held her fast, bringing her flush against him. Her cheeks were a brilliant shade of pink, and her eyes glittered like gemstones. "Look at me."
She did, and he smiled.
###
Sarah had time to think two words before the world seemed to rearrange itself in a flurry, and she felt the familiar swooping in her stomach that she had the first time she had stepped over the threshold from her world into his.
Oh. Shit.
"Welcome home," Jareth murmured, his mismatched eyes glazed over with desire. "Sarah."
His voice saying her name made it sound like some kind of sinful treat. Like honeyed candy. Decadent chocolate. Sarah. "This isn't home," she whispered. She couldn't look away from him, even as she wanted to check that her other senses were not betraying her. That she was really in the Underground again, with him.
"Don't deny what you feel," Jareth said, tone admonishing before it and his grip on her gentled. "Tell me you don't want more of my hands on you. Don't you want to feel what it would be like? Haven't you wondered and dreamed?"
Sarah shuddered. She had, and something about his voice and proximity was bringing up every single one of those memories, culminating in the core of her. She ached. It had been years since—
She did not want to think about it.
Jareth's eyes were closer, and then her head was tilting to the side, her lips parting, and he was kissing her again.
Sarah opened to him just as a hand buried itself in her hair, pulling just enough that she gasped into his mouth. Jareth chuckled, palming one of her breasts through her shirt. "Gods, precious, you are a dream," he said, his lips brushing against hers as he spoke.
She could feel him growing rigid against her, and a part of her brain shut off. All she wanted was more.
More.
More.
"Tell me you want this," Jareth demanded.
"Stop. Talking," she said in return, eyelids heavy. His desire was within her, echoing hers. Her hand slithered between them, reaching for the stiff length of him.
Then another voice cut through her awareness, cold and bitterly amused, making her freeze.
"As entertaining as this is, I have no desire to see this coupling. Now or ever, in fact."
Jareth tore away from her with a snarl, and the next Sarah knew she was being shielded behind a fae whose eyes blazed yellow gold, talons ripping through linen-clad fingertips in the first stages of his change into an owl. "What are you doing here?" Jareth roared.
Sarah covered her ears, for his voice had been laced with the harsh screech of his avian form.
"Oh, calm yourself," the other voice commanded, and Sarah sensed magic. Power beating down like waves slamming onto the shore. Power, not words, and it commanded those who listened to be still.
But instead of calming Jareth, a growl ripped from his throat, and she noticed that there were feathers now threaded through his molten gold hair.
Sarah peeked around the Goblin King and found a woman sitting on a nearby chaise lounge. She was examining her fingernails, which flashed in the light as translucent as cut crystal. She did not speak any further as Sarah watched, wide eyed, taking in the snow white hair done in a series of intricate, interwoven braids and frost-colored ribbons. Everything about this woman was pale, from her eyelashes to the intricate gown of embroidered gossamer silk. Daggered sleeves slithered across her lap, the fabric giving off the softest rustle.
A stone settled into her stomach, for she had seen the famous Sargent—Queen of the Ice—and knew that being in the presence of this particular fae was likely what led to his demise soon after the portrait was completed in 1924.
Nice to know you can recite facts about dead artists at a time like this, she mused to herself, slipping back behind Jareth so as not to draw the attention of a magical creature she considered to be far more deadly. Not that the Goblin King was much better.
Though her body still zipped and buzzed from his attentions, overheated, her head a mush of desire.
Desire and now, a growing fear. What had happened? Had they truly bonded? And that meant that Jareth—she shuddered, hugging herself.
Do not fear me, precious. A voice slithered through her mind, and Sarah froze. I could no more hurt you than I could myself.
###
Jareth was trying not to let adrenaline carry him away.
His mother—Isdis, Queen of the Winter Court, Warden of the Northern Realms of Faerie, and Protector of the Frost Fangs—studied him beneath her lashes, though she tried to pretend otherwise. That she had been there since he had brought Sarah Underground was apparent, but his beasts' desire to protect overwhelmed all other senses. The need to shift was near-blinding, and he had to grit his teeth against the sensation. He did not want to frighten Sarah.
He had done enough of that already.
"My dear, you can dispense with the hysterics," his mother crooned as she stood, clasping her hands before her in the perfect imitation of her famous painting. Even the train of her dress was swept across the floor and the chaise in the same manner. He knew she did it to intimidate the mortal at his back. "Come here. Your time has come to a close. You must return with me to the Winter Court."
Now Jareth grinned, the motion savage. "That's where you're wrong, mother my dearest mother." He straightened, and though it went against nearly every instinct within him, he drew Sarah forth.
Isdis flicked her gaze toward Sarah and back, then did a double-take, her gaze tracking slowly between her son and the woman at his side. "You didn't." Her tone was flat. Disbelieving.
"I did." Just in time, too, he thought. Through his arm around Sarah's shoulder, he could detect a faint tremor, but more than that, there was a pure panic screaming through the bond. He tightened his grip, pushing calm back toward their link.
It was difficult, for it was the furthest thing from his mind.
If Sarah knew even half the things his mother was capable of, the panic would have been tenfold.
"You may go now." He said. The words were like cold iron.
Isdis bristled, and the temperature in the chamber dropped by several degrees in an instant, causing Sarah's breath to fog before her. She shivered, and Jareth traced a circle on her upper arm, a fine cloak lined in fur appearing around her shoulders a moment later. She leaned into him, though he couldn't be sure if it was to seek more of his heat, or for other, better reasons.
Jareth flashed a stunning smile at his birth-giver. "Leave."
Isdis narrowed her eyes. "It's not complete." She spoke of the bond, of its newness. It had not even been an hour, but…
"Complete enough. You know it cannot be broken." His smile widened. "Now. Must I ask you to leave again, or are you going to be stubborn enough that I have to force you out?"
"You wouldn't dare," his mother hissed. "I am Queen of the Winter Court, I—"
Jareth raised the hand still draped casually over Sarah's shoulder, and with a push of power that near staggered him, he ripped open the space between worlds and stuffed Isdis through, banishing her back to the eternal winter.
Something warm pulsed deep within him, and Jareth was startled to realize that it was Sarah.
He looked at her, but her expression was far away, her gaze still locked on the chaise lounge his mother had so recently occupied. The temperature in the room eased back into that of a late spring evening, and after a moment of silence, Sarah shrugged out of the robe and from under his touch, turning to one of the nearby windows.
Jareth watched her move away from him, concern a line creased between his brows. Watching her move, he saw she wavered a little, and she was so thin. He had only caught glimpses of her in recent years, true, but had not realized that she had wasted away to so little.
The Goblin King kept pace behind her, his steps silent on the flagstones.
Sarah put her hands on the windowsill and leaned forward, looking out over the twisting maze beyond the city gates. "It really is Faerie, isn't it? This place? The Labyrinth?"
"Yes," he said, stopping as well.
"And that woman, she was your—"
"Mother, yes," he said, the words bitter. "Trust that I am not pleased with the attachment."
Sarah turned around, folding her arms over the concave of her stomach, her gaze raised to him. Challenging. "I heard that the Queen of the Winter Court wanted the Goblin King for a consort."
"That is true."
She blanched. "But that's—that's incestuous!"
"I am aware." He did not hide the disgust in his voice. Pausing, Jareth felt out the edges of their raw connection, noting that as he did, Sarah's lips parted, her eyes sparking with something that was not anger. "You have saved me from a fate I have been attempting to avoid for centuries." He tilted his head at her and said two words that had never once passed his lips. "Thank you."
She gasped, hands flying up to cover her mouth.
Jareth slid a step closer. The bond thrummed, resonating the closer they came to one another. "You know what it means to be thanked by a fae?"
Sarah nodded and then lowered her hands. "I-I don't know for sure. Learning about the fae was never high on my priority list."
Jareth clicked his tongue and noticed that Sarah had drifted closer. She was well within reach, but he did not yet dare touch her. He was not sure that if he started again, he could stop. "But you have an idea, don't you, of what it means?"
"You owe me a boon," she murmured, her hand hovering between them. Moisture gathered at the corners of her eyes. "But not even a fae boon can break a soul bond. Nothing can."
"That's right, precious," he said, the words faint as the breeze. "And I could not have chosen better."
The tears fell, glistening in tracks that he wanted to drink from her cheeks.
The Goblin King gathered up her hands, thumbs running across metacarpals that stuck out like piano wire. Her eyes widened when, instead of moving closer, he stepped away, though he did not release her fingers.
###
"Come," Jareth said. "It has been long since you have been here, and much has changed. Plus," he gave her an assessing look, and she tried not to fidget under his gaze. "I think it's time we made sure you were properly nourished."
Sarah bristled. "Excuse me? Take me back to Brakebills, right now!" She tried to pull her hands out of his, but he held on. "You've kidnapped me."
"You can return whenever you wish," Jareth said, the words making her fall still. "After you've had a proper meal, and rest. When was the last time you slept the night through?"
Sarah sputtered, "None of your business!"
"Absolutely my business," The Goblin King shot back, lifting one of her hands to place a hard kiss against her knuckles. "If you fade, so do I. Now come." He winked at her, and his dashing smile returned, flashing wicked sharp teeth she had felt pressed into her lips and flesh mere moments ago. "Your kingdom awaits."
*waves*
Hello, friends!
For those of you that don't know me, hi, I'm CS, and I primarily write Labyfic if it weren't terribly obvious 😉
This is my first attempt at a crossover. I've read a lot of stories where Sarah Williams was a college student, and I thought Brakebills would suit the bill perfectly, you know?
Questions? Comments? Let me know. I love to hear from you all. I hope you enjoyed, and thank you so much for reading. 😊
Cheers,
CrimsonSympathy