Amek took a satisfied swig of ale. The woman in his arms trembled like a startled rabbit. His rough palm roamed over her smooth back, feeling the faint shivers beneath her skin.
He loved that feeling—the way these women resisted, yet had no choice but to submit. This woman was the wife of a knight from the Green Lands. Amek couldn't forget the moment, just a few days ago, when he'd split her husband's head open with his own axe right in front of her. The woman had still been hoping her husband could slay the fearsome Ironborn before him.
The hard stone of the Iron Islands and the salty sea winds had forged them into warriors by nature. Now, at last, they had returned to the fertile Green Lands and begun their harvest.
At last, they could carry on their traditions: paying the Iron Price and taking Salt Wives.
He thought of it and gulped down another mouthful of stolen ale, muttering, "This is how Ironborn are meant to live!"
Ale dripped from his tangled beard onto the woman's brown hair. She remained motionless, staring blankly at the dim corner of the room, as if her soul had already drifted away.
He staggered out of the house he'd claimed, dragging his stolen Salt Wife along. In the village outside, his companions' laughter mingled with women's sobs, forming a beautiful melody for the Ironborn. This southern campaign had gone so smoothly that he could hardly believe it was real.
The fleet that had entered the Green Fork was commanded by Gawen Goodbrother, the Goodbrother chief of Hammerhorn. A true believer in the Old Way, he was both brave and cruel, and was currently besieging Riverrun.
Amek looked toward the captain of their small longship, Captain Harren Botley, a seventeen-year-old man