Child of the Labyrinth

'The last thing Sweyn Quicksilver saw was the flash of the sword. He was the Court Jester, and the king had sent for him. But this wasn't the sort of 'King' that springs to mind. This was Jareth, the Goblin King. And he was mad. Very mad indeed.
'Ah, Quicksilver.'
'You sent for me, sire?'
'Tell me, what do you know of wishes, Sweyn?'
'Wishes?' Sweyn had no idea why the King wanted to ask him this. After all, Jareth the Goblin King was the master of wishes.
'Do not repeat my words, Quicksilver, they are unique only to me.'
'Well I think, sire, wishes are a dangerous notion, provoked only by a deep, longing desire.' Sweyn replied uncertainly.
'You seem to think I am blind, or deaf, Quicksilver,' Jareth continued, his face a cold, calm mask. 'You think I have not heard the details your loose lips let slip of the events which occured in the Labyrinth last?'
'Sire, I-'
'Silence!' Jareth's mismatched eyes glinted with malice. He stood up. 'You may be the court jester, Sweyn Quicksilver, but I have had the last laugh.' Sweyn barely had time to scream as a sword slashed twice beneath his chin. Jareth sighed, almost bored, dropped the sword and flung himself into his throne, completely ignoring the blood splurting from the decapitated body at his feet.
'Shame,' He muttered. 'I shall have to find myself a new court jester.'
But it wasn't a court jester Jareth desired at this moment.
He pulled out a crystal from thin air, and began twirling it absent mindedly in his left hand. Quicksilver had been right.
Wishes were, a dangerous notion.