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With the day aging, Salas made his rounds throughout the castle, finding his favorite ‘role’ was seeing what others were up to, encouraging them, and providing conversation when spirits were down. He believed he was making a difference in the way people seemed to take a break from whatever occupied them to vent or to exclaim what was on their mind. It seemed as though the entirety of the castle was desperate for entertainment. A ball seemed like a better and better idea with every passing moment.

With the foreign dignitary as a guest in the castle, “eating up the good meats,” as the kitchen staff had claimed, and with the approach of a full moon at sundown, there was controlled chaos within the palace.

He was told by a guard to return to his rooms early, via the King’s orders, and he did so.

As soon as he was curled up by the fire, changed into his loose nightly attire, he cradled the bookThe Princess and the Grasshopperthat he had been reading with Newt and cracked its spine open, eager to reread the story.

Just as he was tracing his fingers along the words on the first page, the door burst open and King Jareth entered.

Startled, Salas nearly dropped the book into the fire, though reclaimed it just in time. He quickly folded the book into his arms, hoping the title was hidden as Jareth, of course, gravitated over to him.

The King wore a smile as he approached, as though some passing thought from the moment before entering still amused him.

“What is it?” Salas wondered curiously.

“That Malthenian is in for a scare tonight. I am betting he believed the ‘beasts of Diagor’ was just some exaggerated myth. He’ll be curled up shaking under his bed once he hears the first of the howls tonight.” He shook his head, chuckling to himself.

Salas smiled at his own memory of facing a dark beast in full form not too long ago. “I’m looking forward to seeing you that way tonight. A much more agreeable version of yourself, I think.”

The King’s smile slipped just a fraction. “I can’t stay here. Unfortunately I can’t control myself in my beast form. Your safety would be compromised, so I must find other quarters for the night. Perhaps I’ll find myself on a run.”

Now it was Salas’ turn to frown. “But you were fine last time.”

“...Last time?”

“You don’t remember!” Salas crowed, delighted. “You were so growly andrawr. And then you curled up right next to me! Like a puppy!” He giggled watching the King grow a bit red with embarrassment, scowling in disdain. “You kept sniffing me—”

Jareth was quick to interrupt. “Our memory is always a bit fuzzy once transforming back,” the King muttered. “Nonetheless, it would be safer—”

“For you to stay here,” Salas finished, grabbing the bigger man’s hand. “I know it was you that night, Your Grace, and it was perfectly fine.”

Jareth’s face searched his for a moment before he turned away, brow furrowed as he debated with himself. Finally, he let out a long, defeated sigh that meant, of course, Salas' victory. “Very well. If only because I believe that I didn’t harm you the first time.”

“You harmed the door,” Salas amended, taking the King’s wrist and pulling him over to the bed so that they both could sit comfortably. The King let himself be pulled around like a leashed pet, his eyes bright with amusement at Salas’ antics. “Well?” Salas demanded. “Do it. Change into a beast.”

Jareth shook his head with a smile. “I’m afraid it doesn’t work that way. I know this might be impossible for you, but you will have to be patient.”

Salas sighed dramatically, as though the King was causing him a great grievance. “Very well. What should we do in the meantime?”

The King shrugged, laying out on the bed in a relaxed pose. Even in such a lazy position, the taught leathers of his garments pulled tightly across the thick, muscled expanse of his chest, drawing Salas’ eyes to his strong neckline and the corded muscles beneath, his mouth going dry. His groin felt heated all of a sudden.

Salas looked away, disturbed by his thoughts.

“Read to me,” the King suggested, gesturing to the book Salas held.

Salas’ thoughts, thankfully, strayed away from the strange surge ofwantthat went through him, and again focused on the book still tucked away in an arm. “You won’t like it,” Salas said immediately, shielding it from view. “It would be too difficult for you to understand. Susconian social construct. Boring stuff.”

“The Princess and the Grasshopper?” the King mused gently. “I think I might be able to handle that one.”

Salas felt his face grow hot, growing quiet. His plan was to seduce the King by making him think he was a capable man who sought greater knowledge, not a stupid bird who delighted in dumb children’s stories.

He felt like he was moving backwards.

“I read very slowly,” he said softly, giving up. Unable to look over to him.

“I’ve got time.”

“And I stutter over the Diagorian words.”