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“Fixed you,” the King murmured, and Salas thanked his stars that it was not uttered disdainfully. “Come here.” With an instructive gesture, Salas reached to wrap his arms around the King’s neck, and in the next moment, he was being carried. He was lifted up so that Jareth could claim the seat with Salas draped over his lap. “I can see why you think that. I can also see that there are some things he taught you that limit you, Salas. And I am going to make you see those things.”
“You can try,” Salas sniffed.
Jareth chuckled, deep and warm, reverberating in his chest where Salas rested his head. Already, Salas knew the King was forgiven.
“I never thought the day would come,” the King murmured, seemingly lost in his own thoughts as his grip locked on Salas.
“What?” Salas wondered, running his hands along the neatly-trimmed dark stubble along the structured jaw of the King, envious of the texture. Salas had never been able to grow hair there.
“That I would find something to thank Eldron for. He failed you in his teachings. Lessons in life. Of your own agency. Your other strengths. But he did help you escape from a greater hell. For that, I will be in his debt, even if he is gone.” The King looked down upon him, his eyes nearly glowing in their warmth. “You’ve become so important to me, little fae. I can hardly imagine my days without you.”
Salas felt his face heat as a blush bloomed beneath the warm surface of his face. He said nothing, but burrowed closer, pleased.
Yet something still troubled him.He failed you in his teachings.Did that include the power Eldron had leant him when ruling had been too much for the older man? Did that mean the Emperor never should have kept council with him, that it was a mistake? That any sense of achievement that Salas had felt had been a poor mistake on the Emperor’s part?
Would Jareth laugh at him and shake his head if they could glance back in time to see all that Salas had done in Suscon?
The thought continued to fester within Salas and he sat up, pushing away from Jareth.
“What is it?” the King wondered again, his brows furrowed with new concern.
“I…” Salas swallowed, his scrambled thoughts unable to form the question, so afraid was he of the answer. At the last moment, he chose a different direction. “I have not yet forgiven you,” he lied.
The King paused. “You haven’t.” It was posed with an odd waiver between both a question and a statement.
“No,” he continued to lie, needing to feel the familiar sensation of persuasion; the power of simple suggestion to get something done. He’d missed it. He crossed his arms over his chest and glared at the King. “You must make it up to me.”
“Do I?” The King took in his newfound determination warily.
“Yes. I spoke with the master tailor. He says that the Kingdom never holds balls anymore, and you have a guest to entertain. Since you will not allow me to do so, you will throw a ball.”
“Throw a ball? Before a battle?” the King asked, his eyes wide with dismayed shock.
“Yes,” Salas said firmly. “And that is not all. I shall wear whatever I want.”
The King’s frown deepened, his arms tightening around him and Salas believed he heard a growl rumble in the King’s throat. Still, he did not protest Salas’ demands.
“And that is not all,” Salas continued.
“Of course it’s not,” the King scoffed roughly.
“You shall wear colors matching mine.”
The King’s grip slowly loosened, his eyes softening as he took in Salas’ last request. “I shall.”
Salas relaxed once more. “Then there will be a battle? I thought with Emperor Eldron killed, your war was won. You never seemed to want Suscon.”
Jareth shook his head. “I had plans for it, though that is beside the point. It is the principle of the matter. If you let a nation take what they want, they will continue to take. It is not a time to show weakness with the world watching. Also…” He gave Salas a steady look, as though choosing his words carefully. “You seem to cherish Suscon deeply. I thought one day… you might like to return to it.”
“With you?” Salas wondered immediately.
The King smiled softly. “With me. The North will always be my home. But I believe Suscon will always be yours. Perhaps there can be compromise.”
“You would not start a war for that pretty idea,” Salas needed to make sure.
“I would not,” the King assured. “It would be a nice addition, though. Don’t you think so?”
Salas thought about Suscon with its sandy beaches and its slick grottos full of treasure, the ground so soft it was best barefoot. He had not yet considered one day returning. Hadn’t let himself miss it so much. In the cold cell where he had been imprisoned, it had seemed like a lifetime ago. “I do.”
