AN: This chapter earns its rating for absolute filth – that's all it really is. I hope you enjoy, you perverts (AKA my kind of people).

Longed for him. Got him. Shit.

Margaret Atwood

Sarah struggled – the efforts leaving her panting and not in the same way as most of the other participants.

"Let. Me. Go." Each word was said into the loam beneath her. She imagined them sinking into the very soil and taking root.

He merely tsked. Another sound she felt as much as heard. "What? Not as eager to play now that you have no control?"

"I should have let Rhiannon have you." She entirely meant it in the moment.

He responded in kind. "And I might have allowed magic in the hunt. I think you would not have fared so well."

Sarah stilled. Trying not to notice how warm he was against her back. Or that he was still hard and ready.

"I won. Again." It was churlish and childish but she felt better having said it.

"Always," he agreed, almost affably. "Now surrender." This time the words rumbled against the sensitive skin of her nape. He'd brushed her braids away and she could feel his lips and teeth ghost against her pulse – sending it skittering. "You'll enjoy it if you do. I'll enjoy it if you don't."

Sarah bucked against him with all her strength, but he was heavier than he looked. Apparently ego weighed even more than muscle. For all her efforts all she managed to do was bring her ass into full contact with the very large elephant in the room.

He hissed and this time she felt the wet heat of an open-mouthed kiss press to the juncture of her throat. Followed by the press of teeth and she realized he was deliberately leaving a mark. As he worried the skin in a way she pretended had no effect whatsoever, she struggled again.

"Shh," he shushed, the sound blending with the leaves rustling above them. His hands moved away from her head and began to work the taut muscles of her back. He was gentling her, she realized. Like a trainer might a horse, and boy, did that rankle. His knee slid between her thighs, effectively stopping her struggles but also rekindling the friction she'd chased only a few minutes earlier in a breathtakingly stupid decision, rivaled only by the time she'd wished away her brother.

Or followed Hoggle after a silly ring.

His own thigh was warm and firmly muscled. She realized she might have a newfound appreciation for male legs. After she'd killed him of course.

He pressed into her again, his hands fully moving now – one skimming across her neck and slipping around to cup the slim column of her throat. The other smoothing down her side to brush against the sides of her breasts.

A rush of something damp and hot and wanting uncoiled within her. She imagined him spreading her legs wider, his breath against the soft skin of her inner thighs just before he used his tongue to spear her folds.

She pushed back against him, chasing the phantom feeling, and he made a very masculine sound of approval against her throat.

Water lapping against their bodies…

It was the incongruity of what she was imagining – almost remembering - that made her stop.

"Shh," he hushed again, making Sarah realize she'd made a keening sound.

It re-stoked the fire of her anger.

"I'll hate you for this."

He chuckled. An edge to his voice suggesting he'd not yet forgiven her. "I thought you already did."

"Then I'll hate you more. How pathetic that you have to use some archaic hunt to get your way."

He stilled above her for long enough that she craned her head, trying to look back over her shoulder to see his expression.

"The hunt is over, Sarah. And I am no rapist."

"But…" Sarah huffed in confusion, her brow knitting. "Command me." She hoped she wouldn't regret it.

He ducked down again and caught the lobe of her ear between uneven teeth. "Give. In."

The temptation was certainly there, to pretend he had control so she could rebuff him later. But the firm 'no' slid from her lips easily

He laughed like she'd entirely met his expectations.

"Then what is this?" What is this now, she meant. She wasn't sure there was sure there was a reasonably coherent answer for what lay between them at large. Pun intended, she thought perversely and then fought the urge to wiggle.

"It's a dance, Sarah. If only you'd fall into step."

"Maybe I don't like to follow."

He flipped them swiftly and effortlessly so that she straddled him instead. "Then lead."

He kept his hands splayed open at his side. Like he was helpless and at her mercy.

No longer a threat.

It was his biggest lie yet, she thought.

"If I recall the last time we danced it didn't work out so well for you or your ballroom." And she did recall. Had never forgotten in fact - for a multitude of reasons - many of which she was still reluctant to dissect. "I'm surprised you'd want to dance again."

"Dearest wife," the inflection on the word scraped beneath her skin, "we've never stopped dancing."

Sarah swallowed dryly. "Don't call me that."

"What?"

"Wife."

His eyes were suddenly too dark. Too inhuman. Not helps by the archaic markings on his face. "Then I shall simply call you mine."

There was a savagery in him, stoked by the Hunt no doubt, that made him want to finish it right then and there. Rend clothes and spread thighs, and let the forest swallow screams.

But they needed to be screams of lust not fear.

He wanted her begging, not broken.

He wanted all of her.

There was also the matter of what she'd set out to do to him. Not that he hadn't anticipated her cruel streak. He'd dared not hope she'd come around, even when he'd spied her eyes spark from moss to flame. And yet, he hadn't been prepared for the aching sense of loss when she'd pulled away. How he'd fought the Hunt's pull of magic binding him to her commands and leaving him at her mercy.

And his Sarah had none.

The thought was strangely pleasing. It freed him from showing any in return.

He still wouldn't force her. Not ever. Not when she'd shown him a willing, voracious Sarah. He'd do just about anything to get that back.

"Well?" His tone was deceptively light. Almost playful. "Aren't you going to kiss me?"

"What? No!" Sarah stopped before unconsciously licking her lips.

"How very awkward then," he chided. "It's really the greatest of slights if you don't."

She pulled a face. "To your ego or to your silly traditions?"

"You don't participate in the Wilde Hunt if you don't intend to make a meal of your prey."

He reached up and tested the plushness of her bottom lip.

"Perhaps I'll bite you then," she said against his skin.

"Perhaps I'll enjoy it." His thumb brazenly dipped between her parted lips and withdrew before she could make good on her threat. Which she certainly would have. "Seduce me if you think you can." What he really meant was devour me so I can do the same without your blame.

She folded her arms. "Far too easy."

He cocked a brow.

"It would be about as hard as trying to seduce Calli."

He laughed – still an overly sharp cadence to it. "Now you truly wound." And then he switched tactics, as Goblin Kings are wont to do. "I wonder if you know what you look like right now," he mused softly.

Sarah bristled, ready to be offended. "A mess, I'm sure." It had been an endless night.

"No, not a mess." He fingered a length of her braided hair, catching at one of the white feathers. "Something else entirely." He didn't say what by deliberation. Letting her wonder to keep her attention. Keep her silent and focused on his words rather than the ones she'd invariably want to hurl back.

It worked. Because she waited. Swallowed down whatever whiplash retort she had readied.

His hand dropped to her belt, tracing the intricately embossed leather motif. "This. A symbol of a victory hard earned." Limned by moonlight, he couldn't entirely read her expression, but he sensed he had her attention. "And this," he reached to touch the kohl markings across her face, "a testament to your strength. That maddening will of yours."

"Morrigan." Sarah hadn't even seen them herself, she realized. Quite forgotten they existed, though she could clearly see his.

"I know." I recognized her hand, he didn't add. Nor that the others would have as well. A mark of favour from a powerful and rarely generous goddess. Also a warning and a badge of claiming. Sarah was one of hers. Sarah would, of course, balk at hearing any of that expressed aloud.

It was not a design at all. Just a straight line of black that made her eyes all the more green. Straight and unyielding. An impenetrable wall to be reckoned with. Jareth smudged it slightly, transferring some of the powder to his fingers and scraped down.

"Why didn't you tell me what was going to happen?"

He recognized she was deflecting but allowed it.

"And give you enough time to over analyze? Run away and hide 'til it's all over? Hardly in my best interests."

"And what are your interests exactly? What are they really?"

"Fishing for compliments now?" A glint flashed in his eyes. "Are you waiting for me to profess my love?"

Awareness returned slowly to Sarah that they were having the conversation in a very compromising position. His fingers shifted and tightened on her thighs, perhaps because he'd noticed her realization.

She was no longer sure she wanted to hear his answer. "We should go back. It's over now."

A painted brow arched. "To the prying eyes of all our guests? To family?" His fingers slid inwards along her thigh. Teasing not taking. But present in a way she couldn't ignore. "I am still waiting to be seduced, Sarah."

She folded her arms again, trying to remember why she was still straddling him and not already a safe distance away. If such a thing even existed. "Does this reverse psychology bit ever work for you?" Her tone deceptively light.

He didn't bite. "Tell me you're not at all interested and I'll let you go."

There was a subtle hint of command couched in a simple request. One that should have been easy to fulfill and yet looking into those kohl rimmed eyes her words scattered. Lies would not work anyway she thought.

She licked her dry lips unconsciously. He tracked the small movement, his too-warm hands settling once again on her thighs.

She could feel her muscles twitch in response and wondered if he could as well.

Sarah tried another tactic. "I'll answer if you answer me first." He looked intrigued and allowed her to continue. "What do you want? What do you really want?"

"Ah, but that's a dangerous question for one such as I? Are you certain you want to know?"

Not trusting her voice, Sarah merely nodded.

"I'll give you one answer for now then, as there are several. Though it's one I think you already know." His low voice seemed to sink beneath her skin, eliciting an entirely physical response in her core. A pulsing wet heat that her thin pants would do little to hide. It didn't help that no underwear – by design no doubt – had been provided.

His fingers traced patterns again, edging inwards and upwards along her thighs. "What do I want, Sarah? I want to do depraved things to you." At her look of protest, he continued. "You're right. Maybe depraved is not the right word. That would imply I have the moral code to feel ashamed. And that doesn't sound like me at all."

She caught at his wrist to stop his hand, but his long fingers simply flexed – the tips skimming the seam of pants, touching just lightly enough to send an aching shiver through her. She wondered if he could feel how damp she was and her face flushed. His cock twitched in response and she resisted the urge to press down onto him to deepen the sensation.

It would be so much easier if he'd just flip them again. Take control. She was certain he could – might even want to - but was choosing not to.

One hand left her thigh and caught her chin, forcing her attention back down to him.

"The question now is would you feel guilt, Sarah? Like you'd lost? Or could you forget yourself long enough to just enjoy it and finally recognize that no one has to lose here at all."

"It's a trap." Her voice was throaty.

His thumb pressed back into her lower lip like he was feeling the words as much as hearing them.

"Love is always a trap." He delved into her mouth for a moment and transferred some wetness onto her lip. "And you haven't answered my question."

"Even if I did want you." He looked disappointed at her cowardice. "I won't complicate things. Not further. Not when you know I plan to end this."

He chuckled but it was anything but amused. "A noble resolve no doubt, but it sounds to me like you're more afraid to lose your conviction." His hand returned to her thigh. "Is it so easily shattered?"

Sarah leaned down then, telling herself that she was just trying to regain the upper hand she'd so briefly held. Her own hands splayed against his chest so that she felt his small huff of surprise. "Suppose I decided I did want you, Goblin King. If only for a night. How do I know I wouldn't be irrevocably binding us?"

"Binding us further you mean. For we are bound, Sarah. If sex was all it took, half the creatures in this world would be bound to every living thing ten times over. And some not living things."

"That's Goblin King speak. Maybe it's sex and something else."

"Wise, Sarah." He didn't bother to deny it. Instead he skated his hand up along her ribs so lightly she caught herself actually straining to feel it. He stopped when the tips of his fingers skirted the undersides of her breasts. Despite being thoroughly annoyed with him and the whole situation, she suddenly very much wanted to shift down so that he cupped her fully. It would be so easy. And she wondered if he was setting another kind of trap.

For a moment she forget herself enough to rock down against his erection. He stiffened and his hands immediately dropped down to clamp onto her hips and keep her in place when she invariably remembered herself again.

Later she couldn't quite recall who had initiated the kiss, only that their mouths had found one another. He sucked wetly on her lower lip and then wasted no time delving within. She met him just as boldly, hardly caring when teeth scraped or nipped. Her hands slid around his shoulders to sink into his bound hair. He rocked up into her more forcefully, highlighting that only thin cotton separated them. His hands moved off her hips to cup her ass, angling her so that he fit more tightly against her.

She'd once been caught in high school doing something similar with a boyfriend. Before she'd been ready to take the plunge but when hormones and young, largely innocent, infatuation demanded relief. The ignominy of having her father walk in on her dry humping a boy had left a mark.

But there was nothing innocent about what they were doing and there was nothing boyish at all about the man between her legs. He wasn't even a man, she warned herself. He was the Goblin King. She pulled back enough to meet his eyes and catch a reedy breath.

"You're thinking about running away again." His voice was deliciously hoarse but she forced herself to focus on his words. She couldn't decided by his tone if that excited him or disappointed him.

"No, I-"

He pressed a gloved finger to her lips. "Nothing you do tonight will trap you, Sarah. That's not the point of the Hunt."

She believed him. Believed him enough to catch at the tip of leather with her teeth and tug. He watched her with hooded eyes as she removed his glove and discarded it. He returned his hand to her mouth and pressed a bare finger inside. She sucked on it and felt his cock pulse in jealousy. She squeezed her around him.

"This means nothing." Her voice was breathy in the silent woods. "You're an itch," she added rudely. In fact she decided she might be able to drive him wild again and then leave him high and dry. As she'd original planned. A dangerous game certainly, but one she wanted to play.

"Kingdoms have been built on less." He'd read her easily. Challenge accepted. Before she could protest his words he was kissing her again. Devouring. She could probably come without removing a stitch of clothing she realized. More than she could have said for that high school boyfriend and the couch her father had never been able to look at quite the same.

But all thoughts of that teenage fumbling fled when he slid a hand between them and pressed his heel into her. His other retraced the path up her ribs but this time didn't hesitate to fully cup her breast through the thin material. His mouth swallowed her sharp exclamation, nipping almost painfully at her lips. Deft fingers found her nipple though her shift and rolled it, tugging while working the whole of her breast in his palm. His other hand slid upward and a moment later she felt her belt pull free. He slid up and under her loosed tunic to the waist of her pants, tickling the soft skin of her belly. His long fingers slid down beneath the band and stretched until they brushed the neatly trimmed curls. Sarah gasped breathlessly. No barriers between them. Jareth made a raw sound of approval, almost a growl, as his fingers hit the first flush of wet heat. He smoothed it between his finger tips along her slit, not yet pressing between for her folds. Content to explore the damning evidence of her desire.

Sarah quickly realized she was in danger of losing the upper-hand. If she'd ever even truly had it. She arched back enough to work her own hand between them and cupped his thick shaft. Jareth made another inarticulate sound of encouragement. His mouth left hers long enough to suck against her neck as she stroked him.

Perhaps they could bring each other to relief without actually doing more, she renegotiated. That would be an acceptable concession.

Perhaps catching the direction of her thoughts he rolled them, managing to cushion most of the impact. The ground was much cooler against her back, her body protesting the loss of his heat. Her hand tightened involuntarily on him and he cursed hoarsely into the hollow of her neck, and then worried the sensitive skin with his teeth in warning.

The sound of fabric ripping registered only fleetingly and then he was working his hand into her tunic and tugging on the simple breast binding she wore beneath. He other hand withdrew from her long enough to cover her hand and encourage her to stroke him again. Before withdrawing he popped the ties open on his trousers inviting her to continue more intimately.

And then he'd did the same to hers, this time wedging his whole hand between her thighs. A cool breath of air against slick folds and then the heat of his palm against her. She twisted, her teeth sinking into the juncture of his shoulder to stay the sounds he so desperately wanted to hear.

His mouth found the shell of her ear. "Do you know how wet you are, Sarah?" His voice danced along her spine, somehow reminding her of his taunts her in the tunnels so many years before. "And it's all for me."

There was the expected smugness that so grated but also a kind of reverence. Like she'd offered him something tantalizing and impossible.

"Stop talking," she hissed and then squeezed him just shy of pain. He bit her then, enough to leave a proper mark. She didn't care. She worked her own hand into his pants, the back of her hand teased by his trail of hair and her fingertips meeting the velvety skin of his cock.

Ignoring her command, he licked at the bruised skin and spoke words into the mark, like he was trying to press them into her very being. "You won't be able to walk for a week."

It shouldn't have excited her, but it did and she rocked into his hand. He teased a finger into her up to the first knuckle and swirled.

Their gasps collided.

"If only your mouth was as welcoming as your body." It was maddeningly not enough. Too shallow by far. Rather than press in further he instead found the aching bundle of nerves.

Sarah actually screamed then – a keening shallow thing that she would have swallowed it back – had it not torn out of her. Rather than gloat, Jareth seemed entirely captivated. More driven and determined. He plumbed her mouth as though trying to taste the end of it.

His other hand palmed her breast roughly, with less finesse and more passion. The sounds of fabric rending. She had the feeling if he'd had access to his magic, they'd both already be naked.

Somewhere in the back of her mind she wondered if she'd lost the narrative She wasn't sure her plan of dining and dashing was entirely feasible anymore.

Perhaps sensing that concession too, she felt him smile into her throat. He pressed his finger further inside her, while rocking into her palm. She wasn't sure she'd ever felt any man so hard before.

Not a man, you fool. The Goblin King.

Your husband.

The wedding night you didn't have.

Her body was on fire but her mind began to spin and try to claw back the reins of control.

And then a horn blast so close it almost deafened her.

Sarah jerked, biting her tongue painfully. Jareth swore.

Both looked up into the knowing face of Cern.

"Sorry. Did I startle you?" He did not look sorry at all.

Sarah blinked dumbly. She couldn't see Jareth's face but his body had gone preternaturally still above her – one hand still trapped in her pants and the other on her breast half inside her breast band.

"I just thought you must have missed the ending of the hunt. Considering it ended oh," Cern pretended to consult the stars, "over an hour ago." His eyes roved over them both. "Oh dear. Am I interrupting?"

Jareth made another sound that was all together inhuman, though certainly meant to convey intense displeasure.

"It's just that I heard a curious scream. I was concerned something had happened to you, Sarah. Perhaps you'd drown. Been attacked by something. Or maybe you'd fallen and impaled yourself on something."

A flush suffused her face and she pushed at Jareth to release her despite the fact he was doing a fairly good job of covering her.

The Goblin King resisted for a moment and then pulled himself up and sat back on his haunches. As he removed his hands, he discreetly tugged her tunic over the open fly of her pants.

Sarah immediately rolled out from under him and got to her feet unsteadily, smoothing her clothing awkwardly. It felt like her living room all over again, but instead of a displeased father she was faced with an unrepentant fae who looked like he'd just as likely join in if they'd extended an invitation.

"Cern." The word was as sharp as a dagger. Sarah hazarded a look at Jareth's face and then immediately wished she hadn't. Though it was not directed at her, she thought he'd never looked so blazingly angry.

Even the horned god looked momentarily taken aback before recovering his signature insouciance. "Don't shoot the messenger now. Thought I'd beat the gossiping search parties. They certainly aren't far behind and you've been far from discreet. Or perhaps I was worried for you, dear disgruntled, murderous-looking cousin. You could have been the one screaming while she made herself a widow. Seems she was torturing you in other ways." He winked at Sarah, who studiously contemplated the traces of dirt under her nails.

"You might want to straighten up by the way. You've got something," Cern motioned at both of them in entirety. "Just here."

"I hope you know," Jareth's voice had evened out but his expression was no less lethal, "that I fully intend to flay you alive for this and let Calli feast on your entrails."

"My, my," Cern directed his comment at Sarah, "whatever has gotten him so worked up?" It was only the god's well-honed reflexes that helped him avoid the small tree that sailed past his head. "I really do think he needs to find an outlet for his frustration." And then he disappeared back into the woods as though he'd never been there.

Sarah immediately made to follow, the flush of her cheeks the only balm against her rapidly cooling body. She glanced back over her shoulder and met the eyes of the Goblin King. His hair was messed and the kohl on his face was smudged, but it was his expression that was the most arresting.

And then in a move Sarah realized she would never be able to forget no matter if she never saw him again, he slid the still-glistening fingers of his gloveless hand into mouth; eyes never leaving her face.

Sarah shuddered and looked away, doubling her pace. She was torn between feeling shame, anger, frustration… more frustration. He'd coerced her into the hunt, his family has badgered her into actually participating. And then despite best laid plans she'd gotten completely carried away and might have knocked knees with the bloody Goblin King on the forest floor, an audience on its way.

Which in its own right might have been fun, but she was currently trying to get out a marriage, not get under him in what would be a tangled mess. Theirs could never be no-strings attached. She rubbed at her wrist. Literally.

She wondered what was going through his mind though she didn't dare turn around again.

She was so preoccupied with parsing out her emotion, she tripped over one of the roots. A gloveless hand under her elbow steadied her. It was still damp from his mouth – or from her.

"Don't touch me." She didn't even mean to say it. Much less to say it in such a vicious, acerbic tone.

For a moment his grip tightened. His expression was as fraught and she saw his cheek tick in some barely repressed emotion.

He was angry. Perhaps more so disappointed. And she was horrified to realize that bothered her.

"I mean-"

"We both know exactly what you meant, Sarah. When you rationalize it all away, as you no doubt will because somewhere along the way you became a coward, do remember that once your will was as strong as mine. Once you didn't run away from things."

"That's not fair," she whispered, and then winced at the unfortunate words.

But the Goblin King had already released her and moved passed, already breaking through the treeline.

The final stretch back to the feast was no better for Sarah, now alone with her thoughts. It was no doubt noted that they arrived together but separately. There were whispers shared and she could feel eyes take stock of her appearance. She pulled her braids over her neck. Jareth briefly acknowledged a few passing greetings before finding a flagon of wine and downing two glasses in quick succession. He inclined his heads to the remaining guests and then disappeared, flagon in hand without saying a word to anyone. Not once did he look back.

Sarah locked eyes with Morrigan's watchful corvine, and then met the colder stare of its owner. What the goddess thought of their arrival was impossible to glean. She nodded once at Sarah and then withdrew. Boudicca offered her a slow clap, more likely than not meant in derision, and then laughed something no doubt unkind into Lugh's ear. The two followed Morrigan back into the keep. Regan and Reina were no where to be seen. Dagda was asleep at the table, the glamour that had shown him so impressive long gone. His beard was purring contentedly in harmony.

Only Calli bothered to openly acknowledge Sarah's return. "Did you enjoy your first Hunt?" She passed over a full cup of wine. "There you go. Moratorium on drowning your sorrows has been lifted."

Sarah accepted it. "Not particularly. Did you enjoy yours? Eat anyone this time?"

Calli laughed – another bright silvery sound that clashed with Sarah's mood. "Oh indeed but not in the way likely to cause another incident."

"So you caught someone then?"

"Several someones actually. Would have been more but I had to do my duty to ensure a certain whiny little mortal didn't die. Barely had time for more than a snack," she sighed dramatically. "Now do tell what you did my cousin after I dragged the wench away kicking and screaming. I can't say that he looked particularly please when he returned."

"Nothing happened."

Calli refilled Sarah's glass without being asked. "How interesting. Just like there's no twigs or leaves in your hair. Just like your belt isn't missing and your tunic isn't ripped." Calli's eyes flickered to Sarah's mouth. "Lips that aren't thoroughly bruised. Nothing indeed."

Sarah accepted the glass with a brittle expression.

"Ah, I see. Not enough happened. No doubt Cern showed upat the worst possible moment. He never did like losing."

"I'd really rather not talk about it." Sarah sank into a chair and considered the remaining guests – most having retired or left to seek their own amusement when they realized there would be no more entertainment from the king and his wayward bride. The participants who'd returned had come back in various states of undress. Some limping and bloody. They looked like they'd had a better night than she had. Sarah didn't really want to stay but going back to her room sounded worse. With nothing but a door and a world of misunderstanding between them.

"Of course you don't want to talk about it. You'd rather be so thoroughly fucked you can't overthink anything."

The words were slow to penetrate and when they did, she choked slightly.

"Oh dear. Have I offended the virtuous mortal?" Calli's nose wrinkled. "The perennially virgin bride?"

Sarah sputtered again. "I'm not. I mean we didn't… but look, I'm not some naïve innocent."

"Oh my little pearl, you are an absolute infant to one such as me. But don't take offence. I merely meant you seem to put a lot of stock in scratching an itch."

The same word she'd herself used made her start. "I'm not offended. I just know that sex can… complicate things."

Calli propped her head on her hand. "May I give you some advice?"

"If I said no would that stop you?"

"Stop thinking. Take what you want. Make no apologies."

Sarah snorted. "Easy for you to say. You haven't been tricked into a marriage you don't want."

"You may not want the marriage, but I know you want the fucking. It's radiating off you." The siren looked like she was enjoying. "So why not take it and then break the union."

Sarah glanced up suspiciously at the last, face a little warm at the idea Calli could tell discern any such thing. "I thought you were on your cousin's side?"

"Oh, I like him well enough. And when it suits me I certainly help. But being noble for too long leaves an unpleasant aftertaste in my mouth." A slim hand trailed up Sarah's arm. "If you're worried about losing face, it needn't be Jareth to scratch that itch."

Sarah tensed, preparing to tell Calli that she didn't swing that way. But that would be a lie as the siren was something else altogether. Sex on legs. And though Sarah had never been tempted in that direction, she could suddenly picture them writhing together, clothes discarded on the floor. The smell of salt and sex heavy in the air. A silvery head between her legs finishing what Jareth had started- Jareth…

"Calli," a gruff voice warned. Sarah's eyes cleared, her body strung taut like a bow.

The siren dropped her hand with a pout. "You are bent on spoiling everyone's evening tonight, aren't you?"

Cern shook his head and folded his arms. "I'm certain you're not trying to do Jareth such a disservice as seducing his wife in front of all soot and sundry. Not to mention the bet said no tricks. Take your siren song back to the sea where it belongs."

"You're just upset she likes fins more than fur." She turned back to Sarah. "He's feeling a little on edge now that his cousin wants to serve his head on a platter at the next feast." She eyed the Hunter again. "But if I'm not to your taste," she scoffed like that was outlandish, "I'm quite certain Cern would happily relieve your tension. Unless of course it's more than just an itch."

Sarah glanced between then two of them, both of them beautiful immortals and both of them promising all sorts of things. She was uncertain if she wanted to laugh or have the ground open up and swallow her whole. "This is so not happening right now." Sarah stood. "I'm going to bed. And that's not an invitation," she added quickly. "I'd imagine your cousin wouldn't take kindly to either of you trying to win some silly bet by getting his wif-" She trailed off and then looked suspiciously at them both, feeling like she'd been played. "Nevermind!"

"Sweet dreams." Calli blew a kiss and then didn't bother to hide her laugh when Sarah's brow furrowed further.

When Sarah got back to her room, she was relieved enough to almost cry when she spied the steaming tub set up in the centre of her room. It was copper and high backed and the scent of something spicy and floral saturated the room. She was sticky and dirty and uncomfortable and dearly needed a thorough washing, but the thought of bathing in the spacious bath house was more than she could handle.

As she stripped, she caught sight of herself in the mirror for the first time. Smudged make-up. Braids full of feathers and forest. Torn clothing. She looked anything like a wild thing. Her eyes too green against the kohl. Worse were the fingerprints in matching black that crossed her skin and clothing like a trail map of where'd he'd been. For all to see.

Grimacing she shucked the rest of her ruined clothing and slid into the perfumed water. She felt each ache and protest as the hot water flooded her abused flesh. She methodically began to pull the braids from her hair, dropping the debris on the floor. The tub was large enough and deep enough she could slide completely beneath the surface. She used her fingers to rub at her marked skin, only surfacing when she needed air. Pockets of kohl floated across the water. She plucked a sodden feather – missed in her ministrations – and considered it.

It was all like a strange dream from which she could not wake.

When her fingers pruned she reluctantly pulled herself from the tub to don the fluffy robe that had been left on the bed.

Her eyes crept to the adjoining door. Curiosity had her crossing the distance and pressing her damp head against the wood. She immediately stepped back as though he was mirroring her on the other side of it.

She quickly moved away, bumping into the small table that held her notes from the library. She'd not had time to revisit them. Wiping her hands on the robe she picked them up again.

He'd called her a coward. Him. When he had all the power.

Will is as strong as yours.

Walking to the decorative desk she pulled a thick piece of parchment free from the drawer and carefully began to write, consulting her notes several more times as she did. She reread it a few times and then satisfied, she opened the door to her room and hailed a guard, giving him explicit instructions. Twice just to be safe and using hand gestures as well.

Exhaustion licked at her bones so she crawled into the hideous but blessedly soft bed and fell into a troubled sleep.

The next morning Jareth was in the throne room, entertaining a handful of important guests. He would have bogged the lot of them if he could have. She was nowhere to be seen, but that was probably for the best. He knew she could not have gone anywhere, small satisfaction though that was.

At precisely nine o'clock a nervous looking guard entered the throne room, his eyes round in fear and pulled an envelope free from his uniform. He handed it to the Chamberlain.

The Chamberlain, a stout chap with delusions of grandeur, was annoyed to be disturbed and ignored him until it became clear the guard was not going to leave. Once the letter was in the Chamberlain's hands, the guard bid such a hasty retreat it should have told him his day was about to become the most miserable. Tearing open the envelope, his own eyes widened and then closed tightly. He'd had a good life he supposed. He clanked his staff and then clearing his throat several times in succession, he began to read aloud.

Silence was slow to fall, but when it did it was the kind one felt. Jareth – who was already feeling stretched thin – trailed off mid story in annoyance. When the Chamberlain finished, the murmurs resumed almost immediately and then hushed almost as quickly as all eyes fell to the Goblin King.

His face was a mask – the only betrayal, a twitch of his lips that could have been amusement and might have been anger. Or something worse than both.

"But what does it mean? Really?" asked Rook, the only one daring enough to ask aloud and likely the only one who could have asked and been spared.

The Chamberlain inched towards the exit.

"What it really means," the Goblin King replied carefully, "is that my wife has declared war."

AN: Don't come for me! YOU KNOW ME! You knew I was going to blue-ball him. If you were honest, YOU KNEW I WOULD DO THAT. And really I blue-balled them both this time, yo.

But hey… lots of groping and progress (okay one step forward, two steps back) between them and handfuls of naughty bits. Cern is that cousin we all hated.

Let's be honest, even I want them to bang already. They do much better when they aren't talking and both desperately need it.

Going to try to get this story updated again and Tanglewood wrapped up before I dip my foot into Star Wars fanfic. TROS wrecked me (no spoilers) and I realized I MUST excise this demon of a Reylo fic if I am to function. That does NOT mean I am abandoning Labyrinth! Labyrinth is my jam and where I cut my teeth, and I have way too much fun messing with the King and the girl who ate the peach to stop. I'll eventually get back to Of Caterpillars and Goblin Kings (never abandon a fic) too, it's just hard to write a summer romp when it's winter.