Archive of Our Own ^beta

Title: My Kingdom as Great

–

He hadn’t expected a call tonight. Especially this call. Yet, he can’t say he’s entirely surprised. 

Thick clouds cover the stars, leaving the night sky in deep darkness. The moon hangs low, its pale glow the only light cutting through the gloom. The wind howls softly, as if it’s waking slowly from deep slumber. 

His unnerving gaze sharpens as it settles on the mortal woman before him. She lounges on the settee, legs stretched out as if utterly at ease. Laughter flickers in her forest-green eyes, and a smirk tugs at her lips, only deepening his frown.

He stands in the shadows against the back wall, completely concealed. “I could ask if you truly grasp the finality of your words… but I believe you do. What’s said is said.”

She laughs softly, dismissing his words with a flicker of amusement. Leaning back, she tilts her head, mischief in her eyes. “Won’t you sit down, Goblin King?” she asks, her tone light and teasing.

He tilts his head, eyes cold and unreadable as he studies her. Time has touched her—he sees it, but he doesn’t know how much has passed. Taller than the shadows that cling to him, he looms, a quiet threat in the dim light. His voice is low, measured. “I do not… sit… with mortals.” A beat of silence. Then, softer but no less certain, “We’ve done this before. You know what happens next.” 

“I promise we won’t be too long,” she says, motioning to the armchair, her voice smooth but laced with something close to fear. “Please, sit.”

A slow, deliberate laugh rumbles from his chest, rich and dark. He steps closer, the air around him thick with something unspoken, something dangerous. His eyes gleam in the darkness as he tilts his head, watching her like a predator humoring its prey.

“Because you asked so nicely…” His voice drips with mockery, yet beneath it, a thread of something vulnerable lingers.

With those words, he emerges from the shadows, moonlight carving sharp angles into his face. His approach is slow, deliberate—closing in, each measured step punctuated by the click of his boots against the wooden floor. The air tightens around them as he nears. Lowering himself into the chair across from her, he locks his strange eyes onto hers, unblinking, as if he’s daring her to look away first.

She doesn’t flinch. The smile stays, even as he nears, though something in her gaze hardens. “I suppose I’ll get to the point,” she says, voice steady. “What happens next, Goblin King?”

–

(A passage of time)...

Time slips through her fingers like mist—days, weeks, months? She no longer knows. At first, she tried to count, tracing the rise and fall of the light, but the effort soon unraveled. Her memory bends and blurs, details slipping away before she can hold them.

She spends most of her time in her rooms, listening to the hushed voices beyond the door. The attendants whisper about her. Some watch with curiosity, others scoff at the luxury wasted on a mortal. They are not all the same. Some look human enough, yet some are made of bark and vines. 

She hears him come in–an attendant scrambles to her feet. 

“Your majesty,” the attendant screeches, “Please don’t trouble yourself with-””

The servant's thoughts scatter as the Goblin King’s  laughter slices through the silence. “I can manage a dinner tray just fine,” he says, setting it down on a small table with deliberate ease. His gaze flicks up, sharp and final. “Leave us.”

All the attendants in her quarters make a mad dash for the door at his order. Their hurried movements bring a smile to her lips. Couldn’t get out of here fast enough. 

She waits until the massive wooden door thuds shut before rising, stepping toward him with measured ease. “I could tell you to stop,” she muses. “They gossip enough as it is. But something tells me you enjoy stirring the pot.”

Leaning against the cold stone wall, he watches her, his sharp, icy gaze piercing.. His voice, low and rumbling, reverberates against the walls. “How was your day, Sarah?” The same question, every night, spoken with the weight of something unspoken beneath it.

She raises a brow. “Uneventful.” 

His smile is slow, predatory, a glint of sharpness hidden behind the curve of his thin lips. He steps closer, the air between them tightening, charged. His voice drops, each word laced with intent. “Let me take care of that for you.”

–

(The Harvest Ball)...

“Have you seen the King’s mortal?”

“She is utterly delightful. Such energy.”

“I suppose he enjoys the novelty of that.” 

The music pulses through her, not just sound but sensation, alive in her blood. Flute, drum, fiddle—it is all and none, a wild melody that commands movement. And she obeys. She spins, twirls, takes a partner, then lets them go. Laughter spills from her lips as her hair tumbles free, sweat beading on her skin. The room tilts, the world blurs, and still, she dances—lost in the rhythm, lost in the night.

Until it all stops with a thunderous crash, and she falls to the ground. 

Pain radiates from her feet, up her legs. There are scratches on her arms, blood drips from her feet. Her clothes are in disarray, gauzy scraps barely covering her body. 

“Get up.” His voice is deathly calm when he speaks. “Now.” 

She tries, but pain makes her unstable. It’s a searing pain she’s never felt before. She swerves and falls again. “I would, Your Majesty, but the room keeps spinning.” 

There’s scattered laughter around the ball room. More of them gather around the mortal, trying to get in on the gossip that is sure to spread across the Kingdom the next day. There’s a low murmur of voices. 

“Quiet.” The intensity of his voice  ensures there’s pin drop silence across the entire castle. He signals for his guards to come forward and carry the mortal woman. 

As his guards leave with the battered mortal, the Goblin King turns to the rest, his expression completely neutral. “Who gave her the wine?” 

“I did, Your Majesty,” a young lord of a neighboring kingdom steps forward. “A mortal drunk on faerie wine is highly amusing.” 

The Goblin King’s expression remains neutral, and his voice turns quieter still. “Did you find her amusing?” 

“Not entirely enough. At Somercrest, we mix our wine with the mortals’ barrels during their celebrations. The chaos that follows is spectacular.” 

“Is that her blood on the floor?” As neutral as his voice remains, he can’t stop the slight twitch of the muscle in his jaws. 

The young lord remains unbothered…and unimpressed. “I suppose, but you cut in too quickly, Your Majesty. Mortals dance until their feet are bloody stubs, or they tear their faces out.” 

The Goblin King addresses the rest of his party.  “Lord Alei of Somercrest thinks I cut in too quickly...did anyone else want the mortal to continue dancing? Do speak up, I am quite intrigued with providing adequate entertainment at my revels.” 

A slow murmur fills the hall, and a few nobles come forward. 

The Goblin King’s smile is a slow, razor-sharp curve—dark, menacing, a silent promise of violence waiting to unfold.. “Well then… dance .” 

And they dance. And dance. And dance. And tortured screams fill the celebration halls. 

“Never let it be said that I don’t entertain my guests.” 

–

(Sarah’s rooms)...

“What the hell is in that wine? I’m still high as a kite,” she blurts as he steps into her chambers.

He says nothing. Just crosses the room in a few swift strides and sinks to the floor. His hands find her bandaged foot, firm but careful. When she flinches, his gaze darkens, jaw tightening.

“Ow..sorry. My feet are sore, but I can live with that.” 

“I trust the healers treated you well,” he says, done with his examination. 

“Yes.” 

“You did something I asked you not to do, Sarah.” 

She laughs, eyes gleaming with mischief. “I’ve never been good at following rules, Goblin King.” She opens her mouth for another quip, but the look on his face stops her. 

“You’ve been briefed about the effects of faerie wine on mortals, why would you drink it?” 

She stops laughing  and gives him a half hearted shrug. “I was bored.” 

There is something dangerous in his voice when he laughs. A King on the verge of losing his temper…or perhaps his sanity. “You would risk a very painful, very humiliating, very public death because you are bored?”

She looks him in the eye, unflinching. “Yes.” 

His fury dies, replaced by something close to concern. The feeling is foreign to him and he doesn’t like it. “Is that why you called me, Sarah? You were bored?” 

“ Very .” 

A razor sharp smile. “Then I suppose I haven’t kept you adequately entertained, precious thing . Allow me to make it up to you.” 

–

(Sarah’s rooms)...

“Jareth sent you to do what exactly, Lord Blackthorne?” Sarah asks, arching a brow. In all the days she’s been here, not a single noble has been sent to her rooms—until now.

Lord Blackthorne sighs, rolling his eyes as if he’s already regretting this assignment. “Annoying mortals,” he mutters under his breath before straightening. “My lady, His Highness, the Goblin King ,” he stresses the titles pointedly, a clear rebuke for her casual use of Jareth’s name, “has tasked me with teaching you proper courtly etiquette.”

Sarah lets out a laugh, sharp and unrepentant. “Oh, of course. Because nothing says ‘refined courtly manners’ like drunken orgies and psychotic duels.”

Blackthorne smirks. “As much as you mock our traditions, there is more to the Goblin Court than debauchery and bloodshed. Though I am curious—what exactly do mortals  do for amusement?”

She shrugs, a playful glint in her eye. “Oh, we have our own share of reckless indulgence. Perhaps I was just one of the more boring ones.” She waves a hand. “But I wouldn’t dare keep you from your noble duty, my lord. Teach me your courtly ways.”

–

(A few hours later)...

"Humor me, my lady—how many courses are served at dinner during the delegation meetings?"

"Six," Sarah answers without hesitation. "Your cutlery arrangements aren’t too different from ours… I had to suffer through a ridiculously pretentious etiquette seminar in law school."

Lord Blackthorne gives her a blank look. "I’ve no notion what you’re trying to convey."

She snorts—very human, very unladylike. "That’s a fancy way of saying ‘what the fuck.’ I’m stealing that, by the way." She waves a hand. "Law school—though ‘school’ might not be the right word. More like law university. Humans have universities where they study different subjects. I studied law."

"As enlightening as this is, we have limited time." Blackthorne gestures dismissively. "Let’s move on to dancing."

Sarah raises a skeptical brow. "You’re sure the King won’t have a problem with that? In case you haven’t noticed, he’s a little… possessive."

Blackthorne shrugs, unconcerned. "Oh, he absolutely will. But he’d have a bigger problem if his mortal guest danced like a drunken mule. I’ve been tasked with preventing that particular embarrassment."

Sarah lets out a disbelieving laugh. "If you insist. I was under the impression no one was allowed to touch his mortal pet."

Blackthorne pointedly ignores her. "You mean mortal guest, my lady. Now, shall we continue? Tomorrow, we move on to history."

She blinks. "Wait, what?"

"The King wishes you to be better versed in our history, geography, and political tensions."

Her mouth drops open. "Jareth thinks I’m going to sit through history lessons?"

"His Majesty, the King," Blackthorne corrects, stressing the title with exaggerated patience, "wishes for you to be more knowledgeable about our realm. It would be... inconvenient if you appeared to be a mortal simpleton during the delegation meetings. In a short period, you will learn the great houses and their strengths and weaknesses."

Sarah throws up her hands. "I can barely think straight in this realm! Half the time, I’m convinced I’m hallucinating things that haven’t even happened. And you expect me to absorb history?"

Blackthorne waves a dismissive hand. "You studied law, did you not? Then I’m sure you can manage to memorize a few names, Lady Sarah. I’m not asking you to weave straw into gold."

–

(The delegation, day 1)...

She feels absurd, caged in by six guards wherever she goes. No matter how many times she’s tried to dismiss them, they remain—silent, unwavering, and utterly unhelpful. They won’t even acknowledge her, and after the wine debacle, neither will anyone else. Conversations quiet when she enters a room, gazes dart away before meeting hers. She feels like a ghost, drifting through the endless corridors of the Goblin Castle, present but untouchable.

The whispers, however, never stop.

“He doesn’t even speak to her publicly. Why does he bring her at all?”

“Mortal pets were supposed to be interesting. This one is as dull as these delegation meetings.”

“Do you think he’s gone mad?”

The word entrapment slithers through the assembly hall, coiling around her like a noose. Then come the harsher murmurs, edged with suspicion, with malice. Her fingers curl into fists. She tells herself she doesn’t care, but the thought that her presence could make him vulnerable unsettles her in a way she isn’t ready to admit.

“Lady Sarah, would you take a walk through the stone gardens with me?”

She startles slightly, drawn from her thoughts. Looking up, she finds Lord Blackthorne watching her, his brilliant green eyes sharp yet unreadable. He extends his arm, and she takes it without hesitation, relief flickering across her face before she can suppress it.

“Of course, Lord Blackthorne,” she says, smoothing her expression into something light, almost playful. “I’m at your disposal.”

–

(The Stone Gardens)...

The moment they step into the stone gardens, Sarah whirls on Lord Blackthorne, eyes sharp with concern. “They’re saying he’s entrapped. Why is he even making me attend these meetings? It makes them think he’s weak—or worse, insane. What if they try to overthrow him?”

Blackthorne lets out a laugh, smooth and musical, a stark contrast to the King’s darker, rumbling tones. “I’d pay good coin to see them try.”

“Lord Blackthorne, I’m serious,” she presses. “If even half of what you’ve told me about these nobles is true, most of them would jump at the first sign of weakness.”

His amusement flickers. “All of what I’ve told you is true, my lady, not just half. I wouldn’t waste my valuable time feeding lies to His Majesty’s mortal guest.”

She exhales sharply. “I know the King finds it hilarious when the rest of them get rattled by my presence, but getting killed over a good laugh isn’t exactly worth it.”

Lord Blackthorne doesn’t get a chance to answer. The Goblin King steps into view, his presence effortless yet commanding. “My, my, Sarah. One would think you were beginning to care .”

“Your Majesty,” Blackthorne says smoothly, bowing low. “I have brought the lady, as requested. I shall take my leave.”

“Of course. Thank you, Blackthorne.”

Sarah watches as the lord departs, frowning. “Do you really think a few minutes of amusement is worth getting killed over?”

“In this case, yes.” The King’s smile is wide, sharp—almost pleased.

Her gaze flickers over him, taking in the shift in attire. Gone is the extravagant finery he wears to delegation meetings, replaced instead with dark, well-worn armor. Her eyes drop to the sword at his hip, realization settling over her. “You’re using me to provoke them,  so you can retaliate.” She pauses for a beat. “ Violently. ”

“You don’t approve,” he says, not as a question, but a statement. His strange, gleaming eyes remain locked on hers, unreadable.

“I don’t understand your world, Jareth,” she says, voice steady but laced with unease. “But I don’t like the idea of  being used to starting  a bloodbath.”

He throws his head back and laughs—long, rich, and edged with something dark. “You’ve been here long enough to understand that they don’t give a damn about your wellbeing, precious thing, and that’s putting it mildly .” He steps closer, eyes gleaming with cold amusement. “Can you not allow yourself even a shred of joy at the thought of their bloody slaughter?”

He expects her to snap back, to bristle, to roll her eyes. Instead, she goes still. The light in her eyes dims, her expression settling into something distant, detached.

“This isn’t what I had in mind when I asked you to take me.” Her voice is neutral, but she’s not really here. She’s somewhere far away, lost in a thought he can’t reach.

His smirk fades just slightly. “I would love to hear what you had in mind,” he murmurs, watching her intently. It’s a question he’s asked before, one she always evades—sometimes with a joke, and sometimes with silence. He leans in, voice dropping. “Tell me, Sarah… in what ways have I failed to live up to your expectations?”

Realizing that  the conversation is veering into dangerous territory, she pulls herself back, forcing her mind to the present. There’s tension in his stance, in the way his shoulders have gone rigid, in the sharp edge of his voice.

“I didn’t have any expectations, Jareth,” she says carefully. “You’ve been far more hospitable than I ever imagined. I just don’t want to cause you any problems.”

His eyes darken, their usual glint replaced with something colder, sharper . “You find me… hospitable?” His voice is quiet, but there’s a razor’s edge beneath it. He studies her, gaze cutting, searching for cracks in her words, for any flicker of dishonesty.

“Humor me with the truth this once, precious thing.” He steps closer. “What did you expect of me?”

She looks away, shoulders tensing. “I thought you’d make me run the Labyrinth,” she admits, voice quieter now. She gives a small, uneasy shrug, but it doesn’t quite mask the weight behind her words.

“And I thought I would just…” she pauses, a shaky laugh slipping out, one with no real humor. “I thought I’d just disappear into it.”

Her words hit harder than he expects, cutting through his usual indifference. For a moment, it shows—just a flicker, a crack in his armor—but then his gaze sharpens, locking everything away. He had suspected as much, but he had never let himself dwell on it.

He doesn’t address it. Instead, his voice is smooth, controlled. “Let’s return to the delegation talks, Sarah.”

“With you?” Her eyebrows shoot up. “You want me to walk into the castle with you , in front of everyone?”

He extends his arm, a smirk playing at his lips. “Let me have my share of amusement, precious thing,” he says, eyes gleaming with dark humor. “Hectic days are ahead.”

She exhales, relieved he’s dropped the earlier conversation. “Just give me a heads-up before the bloodbath starts. I can’t stand the sight of blood.”

His smirk widens. “That may take a while. It’s only the first day, after all.”

–

(The delegation…day 4)...

“I’m quite honored to be seated next to the King’s mortal guest.” 

Sarah turns to find Lady Morningsong…at least she think’s it’s Lady Morningsong sitting next to her at the dinner table. From Lord Blackthorne’s lessons, she recalls that the Morningsong court tended to keep out of conflict, their loyalty generally aligned with the highest bidder. 

 “Mortal guest is too deceptive a phrase, my Lady, I hope the King didn’t mean to insult you by making you sit next to his mortal pet.” 

Lady Morningsong smiles. “I don’t believe that, Lady Sarah. You reside in the apartments that once belonged to the dowager, you seem to be dressed as finely as any of us, and I believe the King has tasked Blackthorne with guarding your life. That is not the life of a mortal pet.” 

“A highly prized mortal pet, then,” Sarah says. “And I think you mean chaperone, not guard my life. Poor Lord Blackthorne, he looked like he wanted to kill me himself when I greeted half the delegation with wrong names.” 

“There are a limited number of mortals in the underground, rarely any that interact with nobility…let alone royalty. But when a mortal does join our courts, it is usually to serve as an advisor in the council meetings.”

Sarah can’t help but laugh. “I hate to burst your bubble, but I wished myself away to the Goblin King, Lady Morningsong. He certainly didn’t seek me out to be his advisor. You’re giving me way too much importance than you should.” 

“And yet I’m told that he spends a considerable amount of time in your chambers.” 

“ That , my lady, has nothing to do with seeking my advice. The King spends a considerable amount of time in my chambers because he thoroughly enjoys  fucking me. Not that I have any complaints regarding that .” 

It’s Lady Morningsong’s turn to laugh. It's the sweet, tinkling laugh of a faerie princess. “You are quite amusing, Lady Sarah.”

–

(The delegation…day 5…Jareth’s private study)...

“You want me to read all of this and find…loopholes?” Sarah asks Lord Blackthorne, holding a sizable stack of papers. 

“You have a very annoying habit of asking the most asinine questions, Lady Sarah. Yes. I want you to read the document and find weaknesses within it. You must be familiar with the entire process. I believe it isn’t too different from what you did in the mortal world.” 

“That’s because I know the fucking law in the mortal world…and by ‘mortal world’  I mean the state of New York. How the hell am I supposed to find loopholes, excuse me, weaknesses , when I don’t know a damn thing about how this place functions?” 

“Ah…we can remedy that in a heartbeat,” Lord Blackthorne produces another sizable stack of papers and hands it to Sarah. “These are the laws as they pertain to royal allowances within a lord or lady’s domain. Read that first, then find the weaknesses.” 

“Doesn’t the King, His Royal Highness , have faerie lawyers who do this for him?” 

“None that possesses a mortal’s ability to deceive and recognize deception, Lady Sarah,” Blackthorne quips, humor lighting up his usually jaded features. “I’d suggest you start on this quickly as the King requires results by midday tomorrow.” Saying that, he disappears out of the King’s study, leaving Sarah by herself. 

“Lord Blackthorne, come back here! It’s not possible for me to do all this in less than a day.” She waits a few moments, until she realizes he is not coming back. “Motherfucker.” 

–

(The  delegation…day 7)...

“That you expect us to house, clothe, and feed your soldiers based on a technicality, is quite remarkable, Your Majesty.” 

Sarah stifles a laugh. Technicality had been her word, which Jareth had decided to use. Now the rest of them are using it too…it just didn’t fit into this world. She feels a sharp elbow poke here, and turns to a somber Lord Blackthorne. 

“Remarkable or not, that is exactly what I expect of you, Lord Hollows, as well as the rest of the great houses across the kingdom.” 

His voice is familiar, yet… off. There’s something wrong about it, something distant and stretched thin. She has seen him cruel, seen him amused, even seen him furious—but never like this. 

He stands on the raised pulpit, addressing the Lords and Ladies of his court. A crown of thorns resting upon his head. His hair looks pale under the dim light, his markings stark against his skin. And his eyes—one an endless abyss, swallowing light, the other sharp as ice, glinting viciously.

She understands now. He is not simply the creature she has come to know, nor is he the nightmare standing before her. He is both. He is all of it —and none of it at all.

Forcing down a shiver of fear, Sarah turns to Lord Blackthorne, who has clearly been tasked with minding  her through these delegation meetings. “I worked at a firm that charged a hell of a lot per hour, Lord Blackthorne. I’d complain about not being paid, but I think he emptied half his treasure vault in my room last night.” 

Lord Blackthorne raises a brow. 

“I didn’t mean that sexually ,” Sarah says, then pauses for a few beats. “Though…I suppose-”

“I would rather not hear the rest of your thoughts my lady,” Blackthorne cuts in. “I would like to keep my head attached to the rest of my body.” 

–

(Sarah’s rooms)...

The room glows silver in the moonlight as the shutters remain open. A cold breeze blows through, but the fire burning in the hearth keeps the room warm. 

“Fuck. Jareth, stop torturing me.” Her breathing is labored as she struggles against his relentless hold. 

“Eyes on me, Sarah,” he says, ignoring her demands. “Tell me what you want.” 

Breath hitching in her throat, she looks at him, eyes hazy with lust and something else. “Don’t stop.” 

A slow laugh. “Stop what?” His fingers dip into her center slowly. “You know I’m not going to continue until you speak, precious.” 

“Don’t stop touching me,” she grits out, face heating up at the mocking lilt in his voice. She supposes this is one of those nights where he’s cruel. Where he enjoys making her beg on her knees and do things that she’d rather forget in the morning. 

“You accused me of using you, precious thing . But haven’t you used me as well?” 

The question is so earnest, she snaps out of her lust filled haze and looks at him. “How have I used you?” 

“You use me to forget whatever it is that  you’re running from.”

She falls silent, unable to confirm or deny his accusations. 

–

(The delegations, day 10)...

“May I be excused, Your Majesty?” she asks, unable to stop herself from heaving. “I fear I  fall sick at the sight-”

“Of all the blood, I know,” he replies, a hint of amusement in his calm voice, as if he’s oblivious to all the violence taking place around them. “Take your frail mortal self away, precious thing.”

She doesn’t need any convincing, she runs towards her rooms, happy to stay clear of whatever he’s trying to do. He hadn’t been exaggerating when he’d said bloody slaughter. 

–

(The winter moon ball)...

“The mortal hasn’t been seen since the delegations, you think she’s still alive?”

“I doubt it. I heard he went wild, killed anything within his grasp. Mortals are quite weak.” 

“Should we ask him?” 

“No! We need him to be calm. What if he was entrapped?” 

There’s a shuttered silence. 

“He ended anyone who uttered the word entrapped, you do know that?” 

–

(Sarah’s rooms)...

“You’ve kept to your chambers for quite some time, Lady Sarah.”

Sarah looks up from her book, a slow smile tugging at her lips. “And you’ve taken your time visiting me, Lord Blackthorne,” she counters. She won’t admit it outright, but she’s missed his exasperated lectures on etiquette.

Blackthorne takes a seat with practiced ease. “I assumed you had no need of me.” He studies her for a moment before adding, “You seem well, my lady.”

“Of course I’m well, Lord Blackthorne,” she says, her smile sharpening just slightly. “I trust the same can be said for you and the King? The last time I saw him, he was covered in Lady Morningsong’s guts.”

Blackthorne arches a brow, as if mildly surprised. “The King remains victorious, my lady.”

Sarah lets out a laugh. “I suppose that deserves congratulations… though he hasn’t exactly been in touch since the whole blood-and-guts incident. Not that I can tell you when that was. Time is a little unreliable here.”

“The King surely means to…” Lord Blackthorne drifts off, unsure of what to say next. 

“Your conversation grows more entertaining by the moment,” the Goblin King remarks, his deep, velvet-rich voice carrying amusement as he strides into the room. A slow, unhurried smile plays at his lips before he chuckles—low and deliberate, a sound that lingers in the air like an unsaid warning. “Do continue, Blackthorne.”

Lord Blackthorne stiffens, caught off guard. “Your Majesty,” he stammers, quickly bowing. “I didn’t mean to overstep.”

Jareth’s laughter hums again, smooth but edged with something unreadable. “Didn’t you?” His gaze sharpens, pinning Blackthorne in place. “I don’t recall asking you to visit Lady Sarah.”

Blackthorne recovers quickly. “I was concerned, Your Majesty. She has barely left her chambers since the delegations.”

Jareth’s eyes flick to Sarah, assessing. “That is by her own choice, Lord Blackthorne.” His voice loses its amusement, settling into something cooler. “Your concern is unnecessary. The court is awaiting your presence at the ball—I suggest you concern yourself with that instead.”

Watching the exchange with bemusement, Sarah steps in before Blackthorne can dig himself into a deeper hole. “I appreciate your visit, Lord Blackthorne,” she says smoothly. She’s been here long enough to know that outright thanking him would be considered improper, but ignoring his efforts would be just as rude. “Perhaps you’d like to visit me in the stone gardens tomorrow?”

Blackthorne nods, seizing the invitation as an easy escape. “Of course,” he says, offering a quick bow before making a hasty exit.

Sarah waits until the door clicks shut before turning to the Goblin King. “You didn’t have to scare him like that. He was just being nice.”

Jareth leans against the doorframe, looking entirely unbothered. “Lord Blackthorne commands my stealth army, precious thing. ‘Nice’ is hardly the word I’d use to describe him.”

Her brows lift in surprise. “Stealth army? What exactly is a stealth army?”

He smirks, head tilted. “He keeps me informed about other kingdoms, my own court… and deals with problematic individuals using persuasive interrogation methods.”

“Ah… a spy and a torture master,” she muses, genuinely surprised. “ Here I thought he was just an etiquette teacher. Chaperoning me must have been a real highlight of his career.”

“I’m not here to discuss Blackthorne.” Jareth’s voice cools, sharp with finality. “How have you been?”

She lets out a short laugh, brittle at the edges, her words dipped in bitter humor. “Oh, you know me—wasting away without your presence. Spending my days in a jealous rage, imagining you fucking someone else. Just waiting for the moment I can fall to my knees and beg you to use me however you like.” She tilts her head, eyes locked on his. “Is that what you want to hear, Jareth?”

“That was cruel, precious thing,” he says, striding across the room with measured ease before settling into an armchair. “ I wondered whether you would  miss my presence at all. ”

She takes the seat across from him, meeting his gaze head-on. “I certainly miss your presence at night, if that’s what you’re asking.” But they both know it isn’t.

His laugh is quiet, resigned. “Your cruelty knows no bounds.” He leans back, watching her. “I knew what you wanted from me, Sarah, and I gave it to you.”

“And I got down on my knees and showed you my appreciation, Your Highness .” Her smile is slow, deliberate. She can see it—the way her words stir something in him. The power is intoxicating.

His eyes darken, his expression unreadable. “Then tell me, Sarah—what do you want from me now ?”

“Let me turn that around, Jareth. What do you want from me?”

His gaze doesn’t waver. “You cannot give me what I want, Sarah. I, however, will try to give you what you want.”

Something tightens in her chest, the weight of his words settling in. Blood hums in her veins as she considers her next move. “Is that a binding promise, Goblin King?”

His expression doesn’t shift. “I’d like you to answer my question first. Honestly.”

She huffs a short laugh, shaking her head. “And here comes the fine print.”

He doesn’t so much as blink. “What are you running from?”

For a moment, silence. Then, a small shift in her posture, barely perceptible. “There was a time when you stopped asking me that.” Her lips press together, thoughts forming, hesitating, like she’s weighing how much truth to give him.

“You asked to be taken away as some sort of punishment,” Jareth says, his voice steady, but there’s something sharp beneath it. “You told me you wished to be left in the Labyrinth. You know very well what that means–it means certain death.”

She throws her head back and laughs—part bitter, part wild. “There is no punishment for me, Goblin King,” she says, a smile curling on her lips, but there’s nothing warm in it. “Only endurance.” Her gaze meets his, steady, unflinching. “But to answer your question—I was running from death.”

The words land with a weight he wasn’t prepared for. She isn’t deflecting this time. As vague as her answer is, he knows it’s the truth. And in that truth, he sees her—sees her as she is, not as she pretends to be. At this moment, it is clear. She is broken beyond repair. He could drape her in silks, keep her in luxury for centuries, and she would never heal.

“Will you grant me my wish, Jareth?”

Every instinct tells him to refuse, to shake her until she sees sense, until she fights for herself. But he forces himself to meet her on her terms.

“Name what you desire, precious thing,” he says, voice low, measured. “And I will try to grant you this wish.”

“Take me to the Labyrinth, Jareth, and leave me there.” Her voice is even, matter-of-fact. “That’s my wish. You could grant it easily.”

He hesitates. Just for a moment.

He could do it. Let her go, watch her vanish into the endless corridors, become just another lost soul among the shifting paths. It would be simple.

Instead, he says, “I could erase the memory that’s causing you pain.” His voice is calm, but he already knows her answer. She’d never accept.

She lets out a short, humorless laugh. “And then what? I’ll be your personal lawyer and occasional dinner guest forever ? Is that really what you want from me?”

The Goblin King  exhales sharply, raking a hand through his tangled mane, his frustration barely concealed. His usual composure wavers, just for a second. “Couldn’t there be more between us, Sarah? Am I not…enough for you?”

She knows what he’s asking, even if he isn’t saying the exact words. She meets his gaze, unflinching. “No.”

–

(The entrance to the Labyrinth)...

The wind howls over the barren expanse, stirring the dust at their feet. The sky overhead is a deep, bruised crimson, heavy with low hanging  storm clouds that refuse to break. Sarah stands at the edge of the Labyrinth, staring at the endless maze of stone and shadow.

Jareth stands beside her, unmoving. He has not tried to stop her. Not once.

“Let me go,” she says, her voice steady.

His gaze doesn’t leave her face. “You know what you’re asking.”

“I do.”

His fingers twitch at his sides, the only betrayal of his hesitation. “If I let you go, you will not return.”

She doesn’t deny it.

The silence between them is thick, suffocating. Then, slowly, he exhales, measured and controlled. Lifting his hand, magic crackles in the air, twisting like unseen threads around his fingers. A moment later, a pale gold amulet forms in his palm, pulsing faintly with his power.

He steps in front of her, closing the distance, and presses the cool metal into her hand. “Keep this,” he says, voice low, almost lost in the wind. “If the Labyrinth becomes too much—if you are lost, if you are dying—call me.”

She looks down at the amulet, its surface smooth, humming with his power against her skin.

Her throat tightens, but she forces out a small, brittle smile. “And you’ll come running? You make a better hero than you think, Goblin King.”

His lips barely move. His expression doesn’t shift. “If you call me, I will come.”

She closes her fingers around it, gripping it so tightly her knuckles pale. She should say something, something final. But the words won’t come.

So instead, she turns. Steps forward. And crosses the threshold.

The moment her foot touches the stone path, the entrance behind her shifts. The walls groan, twisting, closing in, sealing her inside.

Jareth doesn’t move. He watches until the last trace of her vanishes into the maze. He watches as the path swallows her whole.

His jaw tightens, his hands curling into fists.

She won’t use it. He knows that.

But when the amulet finally shatters, he’ll know it was too late.

–

End