Ulfric's boots clunked heavily against the cold stone floors of the Palace of the Kings as he made his way toward their chambers. Beyond the grand hall, the muffled voices of the day’s celebrations still lingered — a feast of victory and union. It was bad form to leave early but Galmar had things well in hand. He had more... pressing matters to attend to. His hand tightened into fists before relaxing again, the anticipation coursing through his veins making even his usually cool exterior betray its cracks. It wasn't nerves — no, nothing so timid. It was the hunger. The desire. The sheer, all-consuming fire that had been kept at bay for far too long.

He had waited — valiantly, patiently. Through battlefields littered with corpses; through nights when the warmth of her memory was his only solace against the frost threatening to consume his soul. Now she was his wife. His queen.

Ulfric reached the heavy oak doors and paused. A low exhale left his lips as he steadied himself. His hands rested briefly on the wood before he pushed them open. The hinges groaned quietly. Inside, candlelight danced across the walls, casting long shadows that seemed to waver with his every movement. She was already there, seated on the edge of the bed, her body illuminated by the warm glow.

His beloved, his very soul...

Mine, his mind whispered fiercely. The word reverberated through him with every step he took closer.

His boots hit the floor first, carelessly discarded. Then the fur-trimmed cloak slid from his shoulders with barely any effort. Piece by piece the rest of his armor followed — a clang here and there as metal fell on the stone floor. By the time he reached her, he was stripped down to his trousers. The scars that mapped his chest and shoulders caught the firelight — a roadmap of his past struggles and triumphs.

Ulfric’s large hand cupped the side of her face, his thumb brushing against her cheekbone. His touch was deliberate, reverent even, as if committing the feel of her to memory. His eyes followed the path of his thumb before locking onto hers, his gaze meeting hers with the full force of his intent.

"My queen," he rumbled, his deep Nord accent wrapping around the title as though it were crafted for her alone. His thumb slid down to her jawline and then lower still, pressing gently against the pulse of her neck as if seeking to tether himself to it. "Tonight... we begin what the Divines have ordained for us."

He looked at the pendant that was resting on her chest. “Mu los do gein Su'um,” he whispered under his breath, repeating the vow he'd had engraved upon it before gifting it to her as a betrothal gift. 'We are of one breath and spirit.'

The Amulet of Mara rested upon his own. He had never been able to take it off since the moment the Imperials had taken her to be used as leverage against him. They had thought to make him kneel to their rules by using her. Instead, he had throw the entirety of Skyrim into a civil war just to get his beloved at his side once more.

Pulling back only briefly, Ulfric let his hands drop to his belt. The leather sighed as he untied it with sure, deft movements. His cock — already semi-hard — pressed insistently against the fabric of his trousers. The sight of her watching him so closely only served to quicken his blood. He let the belt drop to the floor before stepping out of the last barrier between them. His cock sprang free, thick and proud, the tip already slick with pre-cum.

Ulfric didn’t miss how her eyes flitted downward. A groan rumbled low in his chest — primal and pleased. Kneeling before her now with surprising grace for someone of his size, he placed both hands on her hips, drawing her closer to the edge of the bed. His fingers worked quickly at the ties of her own clothing.

“Do you know how long I've dreamed of this?” His fingers slid beneath and pushed down her underwear revealing her glistening cunt to his hungry eyes. His cock pulsed at the sight. “Of making you my wife in every way? Of filling you so full of my cum that no one — no thing — could ever take you from me again?”

He leaned forward, pressing his mouth to her inner thighs, leaving heated kisses as he spoke. She smelled... intoxicating. If Talos himself descended and demanded he stop, Ulfric would defy his God without hesitation. "You're mine," he snarled lowly. "Every inch of you."

His tongue finally swiped up her slit, savoring her taste, a growl forming deep in his chest. His fingers dug into her thighs as he alternated between sucking at her clit and plunging into her cunt with his tongue.

"Mine," he whispered hoarsely against her cunt. "Now and always."