"You," Sarah hisses out of one corner of her mouth, gesturing towards the masque ball below, "have a problem."

Jareth only laughs, gently settling the mask on her face - a spiralling thing of filigree and diamonds, speckled with tiny sapphires and trailing blue ribbons to match his own royal blue - and drawing her hand around his arm. "It is tradition," he says playfully, leaning down to murmur into her ear as he leads her into the ballroom, "and you always look like a dream at a masquerade, my Queen."