Nibbles for your viewing pleasure.
Ulfric stood in the courtyard laid out before the Palace of the Kings; Jorleif was at his side, listening carefully to his conversation with Rolff.
"She stole from me, my Jarl, and you did nothing to punish her," the Nord bit out. Ulfric bit his tongue against what he wished to say. He did punish Qassanda after she stole from Rolff, but it probably wasn't in the way Rolff wished.
The only fault in his punishment was that he had a feeling that Qassanda would deliberately be caught stealing more so that she could be "punished" again.
As Ulfric opened his mouth to answer, a roar echoed around the stone city. His eyes followed the path of many others as he cast them to the skies, and smirked.
That woman really knew how to make an entrance.
The silver dragon beat his wings with a few hard strokes to slow his descent to the snow-covered stones and Qassanda dismounted from her spot atop him, the most beautiful smirk upon her face as she took a few steps towards him, halted, and dropped to one knee with those sagebrush eyes locked onto his.
"My Jarl, I return with news of victory," she purred, her voice echoing around the silent courtyard. "Falkreath is yours."
Ulfric smiled down at Qassanda. His lover. His soldier. His thief. His Dovahkiin.
The Jarl extended a warm hand to Qassanda and once she took it, pulled her to her feet and into a chaste kiss. Rolff had disappeared to elsewhere and the pair stood alone-save Yolah-within the large circle of guards and citizens who had accumulated to see the legendary Dovahkiin.
Ulfric slid a hand down Qassanda's arm to grasp her own hand.
"Come inside, Qass," he offered, nodding at Yolah to follow as they slowly walked through the courtyard and into the palace.
Sexual healin'