An entire week passed, uneventful. Thorunn didn't know what game the king was playing with her, but it was igniting a fierce impatience coupled with an even fiercer anger, and that was never good for anyone in her vicinity. He'd built her up- he'd inadvertently convinced her that there was never a chance of commitment between them, then he'd given her an Amulet of Mara, and then... nothing.

The sex resumed, of course. That part was nothing new. Nor was the bed-sharing, the public displays of affection during very professional court meetings, and the frequent hunting trips that everyone knew was actually their warped version of a date. Nordic warriors tended to stray away from romantic walks on the beach, and instead elected for romantic Imperial bloodshed. Nothing set the mood better than being coated in someone else's blood while standing in a sea of bodies. And they say romance is dead.

But again, none of this was new. Ulfric had given her an Amulet of Mara, which, at the time, had seemed like an indomitable coming-proposal. His poker face was truly one to be reckoned with, Thorunn had to give him that. Hers was not so well-developed, given her upbringing that stayed far away from politics and thus the art of deceit, so she and Ulfric were both well aware of her frustration with him.

Worse yet, he seemed amused with her impatience. Now, he sat at the head of the summit room, Jarl Vignar rambling on about lack of funds to his right, a disgruntled Galmar to his left, and a bored Thorunn to his front. Subconsciously, she was fiddling with the pristine jewel of Mara's amulet, watching Vignar as she pretended to be listening. Ulfric was doing much the same, except his feign of interest looked a lot more convincing.

"...trade for Whiterun has decreased considerably since Balgruuf stepped down!" Vignar was saying indignantly.

"Let the shock cool down, Vignar. You've barely given your city time to breathe since the attack." Ulfric reasoned. Thorunn was impressed with his ability to sound so devoted when his expression looked anything but.

"It's been nearly a year," Vignar bit back. Spittle hailed from his mouth. Ulfric's jaw visibly clenched, but Vignar didn't seem to notice. "I'd be the last one to suggest this, so you know things are serious when I say this: Negotiate something with the Empire to get some of our prosper back. Don't give 'em any power, oh no, but rustle up some feathers. A good High King knows just how to do that."

Vignar's mouth was too big for his own good, which was exactly why Thorunn liked him so much. Never a dull moment with him around. Ulfric didn't seem to be swayed, but he knew that he'd be here all night if he didn't give Vignar what he wanted. That didn't mean he'd let Vignar's disrespect slide. "Do not question my ability to rule. I am your High King, you will address me as such, and you will treat me as such." Ulfric was suddenly at attention, leaning forward in his chair to give Vignar the glare of the ages.

They held glares for a moment while Ulfric got his point across, then he relaxed and plopped back into the seat. "I will see what I can do. It's a long trip back to Whiterun. If you start now, you might get back by the time the sun rises."

Vignar's face lit up. For a moment, Thorunn thought he might bite back at Ulfric. He wasn't a complete fool, however. Settling for a discreet scowl- because he just couldn't resist expressing his irritation -he stood. "Very well, my King. I thank you for your consideration." His tone was more akin to being pissed off rather than grateful. With all that needed to be said having been said, Vignar spun on his heel and took his leave, his steward trailing behind with him.

Silence settled over the remaining court members. Thorunn was not officially part of the court. 'Mistress' was a title she refused to even consider taking, and 'chancellor' was too nice of a word to be associated with someone who bludgeoned people to death for fun. Steward was occupied by Jorleif, second-in-command was occupied by Galmar, court wizard was taken by someone Thorunn didn't care to know the name of, so that left only one position: High Queen.

If only this fucker would put a ring on it, Thorunn thought scathingly. The thought held so much distaste that it surprised even her, and she'd gotten alarmingly creative with her shit-talking before. Ulfric seemed to catch her rising anger, and much to her dismay, he actually smiled.

She didn't care to fake a return. Galmar looked between the two passively. "I'm very inclinced to use my greatsword to cut through all this tension," he commented.

Ulfric's eyes passed to his second. "If you're feeling tense, might I suggest a massage from our harlot?"

Galmar grumbled beneath his breath, cheeks reddening. The harlot- every court had one, though every single one of them were too embarrassed to admit it -was a Breton man with a charming smile and even more charming hand techniques. Thorunn knew from personal experience, back in the early stages of her and Ulfric's sexual relationship. What could she say? Women had needs, and their fair Breton happened to have the means.

"I take that as my queue to go break something that will ruin someone's day," said Galmar, his chair scratching the floor as he stood. "Have a good night."

Ulfric waved, looking as chippy as a man who'd successfully conned someone out of a room could be. Once Galmar had left, he cut through the silence: "I've noticed your recent agitation, Thorunn."

"Have you?"

"I have." A gaunty smile reached his lips. "You've been pretty... aggressive, as of late, in our bedroom endeavors."

"Perhaps the wolf inside me is simply lacking in protein," she replied, her smile just as honeyed as his.

He laughed, genuine this time. "I see. And what will sate this wolf's appetite?"

Her eyes narrowed, smile fading as her words progressed. "I think you know the answer to that."

That much was true, she supposed. She did know what he was waiting for: A challenge. Ulfric never did like having his fancies handed to him on a silver platter. The calm before the storm, the build up, the game, whatever one likes to call it- that was his favorite part. He liked to be teased. He liked his prize dangling in front of his nose.

There was a problem with that when it came to marrying Thorunn: She wasn't a teaser. She didn't play with her food or bother herself with trying to lie, she simply went in, took what she wanted, and left before anyone could put a bounty on her head for misconduct.

Her shoulders stiffened and it was too late for her to correct it before Ulfric picked up on her unease. He smiled, a natural, almost boyish tint to its mood. "Don't fret. The time will come, believe me, but for now, let us retire to our quarters. It has been a tiresome day."

Thorunn let him approach her and take her hand without really thinking about it. It wasn't until they reached the room and closed the door that she started registering what was happening, and then a sinking realization dawned on her: Ulfric liked being the teaser as much as he liked being the teasee.