The Palace of the Kings stood as a sign of power and authority in the heart of Windhelm, hence the reason it was chosen to hold the celebration of life for the soldiers lost in the war thus far - Many more would be lost, everyone knew this, and so they would all drink for them and their memory. The main hall bustled with allied jarls, visiting noblemen, and all citizens. Voices sounded off the cold brick walls, some conversations carrying a sense of both joy and melancholy, but all spirits high for the next part of the war. The air carried the scent of warmth and the smell of spiced meats from the banquet tables. Sconces flickered, casting dancing shadows across the hall as servants hurried around while Ulfric sat in his throne, awaiting the perfect time to address his guests. His expression was as calm as it could get in times like these, until his eyes flickered toward one of the many unnamed nobles.

The noble didn't seem to talk to any of those within the court, let alone know any of them. Usually, nobles and jarls would mingle just for the sake of showing face, and it raised one of the red "Imperial spy" flags in his mind. His instincts were honed from years of conflict, and his eyes narrowed imperceptibly as they trailed the noble who stared straight back at him, gaze unmoving. Their movements were deliberate, no matter how slight or simple.

Oh, this was no spy. This was an assassin.

Despite realizing this, Ulfric remained seated upon his throne, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips. Calling for the guards would have been the logical course of action, but the thrill excited him. After all, who was he if not an adventurous man?

He rose from his throne and made his way through the sea of people, approaching the figure. Once in front of them, his strong gaze met theirs.

"You've been observing me all evening," his deep voice spoke lowly. "Most would find such scrutiny unsettling, yet I find it rather... intriguing."

A silent invitation to dance with danger beneath the watchful eyes of the court.