Victarion held a massive longbow, drawing it back to full draw with effortless ease.
His gaze was just as sharp, gleaming with a cold light that could pierce flesh and bone.
For a Greyjoy, Victarion was sothing of a maverick. Most ironborn warriors were sailors at heart; they fought unarmored at sea to avoid drowning if they went overboard.
But Victarion had no such fear. Even in the thick of a naval battle, he wore heavy plate. He was already a mountain of a man, and clad in steel, his unstoppable montum made him practically invincible during brutal ship-to-ship boarding actions.
Thwack. An arrow flew, burying itself dead center in the bullseye. Yet, Victarion whipped his head around. His own arrow was still nocked to his bowstring.
Turning, he saw Euron standing there, accompanied by a woman. He had no idea when his brother had arrived. Euron was smiling at him, looking the very picture of amiable warmth.
Years ago, Euron had been banished precisely for stealing Victarion's salt wife.
To preserve his own honor, Victarion had killed that salt wife shortly after. All these years later, the burning hatred he harbored for Euron had sowhat cooled.
Still, having his woman taken was a profound insult to his pride, so he offered Euron nothing but a dark, stony glare.
"Ah, my brother! The strongest kraken of House Greyjoy!"
"What do you want?" Victarion's tone dripped with undisguised coldness and distance.
"Victarion, Victarion," Euron sighed, stepping forward. "Over the years, I have constantly regretted my past recklessness. I know you loathe , and I don't expect your forgiveness. I only ask that you give a chance to make ands."
"Save it," Victarion said flatly. "Let the past stay in the past."
He had no desire to accept any compensation from Euron, nor did he want anything to do with him.
"This woman here... I procured her from Slaver's Bay." Ignoring the rebuff, Euron took the woman beside him by the elbow and pushed her in front of Victarion.
Victarion looked her over. She had light brown skin and a pair of dark, remarkably submissive eyes.
Euron had clearly gone out of his way to dress her up. Despite the biting cold, she wore sheer, thin silks designed to accentuate every curve of her body.
Euron knew exactly what his brother liked. Victarion favored won who were cold on the outside but fiery on the inside—preferably ones with so martial skill.
He knew the arrow that just struck the target was more than enough to pique Victarion's interest.
"She hails from Yunkai in Slaver's Bay. You've likely heard of it; the city is famous for breeding bed-slaves. Not only is she an exceptional archer, but she has also mastered the nine arts of the sighing spring. Every woman who cos out of Yunkai is an absolute master in bed," Euron boasted smoothly.
The "arts of the sighing spring," naturally, referred to the bedroom.
"Pass. I doubt I have the luck to enjoy her."
"She's also a virgin."
Victarion was just about to turn away, but hearing that, he froze. His interest in the woman flared instantly.
Perhaps because he had been so brutally betrayed in the past, Victarion placed an incredibly high value on chastity.
How could she be a master in bed and a virgin? Victarion wondered. He didn't voice the thought, but Euron easily read the doubt on his face.
Seeing that his dense brother had taken the bait, Euron smirked. "Why don't you test her yourself and find out?"
Victarion still didn't verbally accept, but his eyes were already roving over the woman's body.
Before he could get his fill, Euron spoke again. "Victarion, on this upcoming campaign against Winterfell... I want to sail with you."
"With ?" Victarion's stance noticeably softened.
"Yes. A re bed-slave isn't nearly enough to nd the bond between us. I want to fight by your side."
"Winterfell is no minor keep. Do you have a plan on how to take it?"
"Of course. When the ti cos, I'll lead the vanguard for you!" Euron smiled brightly, looking genuinely thrilled.
Seeing no rejection from his brother, Euron turned back to the woman. "He is your master from now on. Understood?"
The woman nodded, her movents ek and sowhat stiff.
"What is your na?" Victarion asked.
She looked at him but remained silent.
"She's a mute. She can't speak," Euron explained. "From this day forth, she exists only to serve you. She has no way to acquaint herself with anyone else. She is your absolute, exclusive possession. I guarantee it."
Euron pushed her toward Victarion, and she obediently took her place at his side.
Perhaps softened by the gift, Victarion's aversion to Euron faded enough to start discussing the Winterfell campaign.
After temporarily accepting Euron's return, Balon had gathered the lords to finalize the plan to attack Winterfell.
The Westerlands had just been plundered bare. The Reach was protected by the mighty Redwyne fleet, and thanks to Euron's botched attempt to kidnap Alerie, their forces were currently on high alert.
The only viable target left was the North.
"Word is Robb has marched his grand army north to fend off wildling raids. This is our perfect opening. We just need to breach Winterfell and take their family hostage. Not only will the Starks be paralyzed, but even that bastard Jon will have to seriously weigh the consequences before daring to attack the Iron Islands," Euron said, buzzing with dark excitent.
His strategy was lifted straight from the Lannister playbook.
Years ago, the Lannisters had taken the heirs of almost every noble house in the Iron Islands hostage, threatening to execute two heirs for every ti ironborn ships dared approach Casterly Rock.
The brutal tactic was incredibly effective, keeping the Iron Islands cowed and docile for decades.
Euron chuckled, adding, "Or better yet, Ned Stark still has two daughters. You could take one of them as your rock wife! Haha!"
"What worries is the siege itself. If we get bogged down outside Winterfell, what happens when they send ravens to Robb for reinforcents?" Victarion asked, cutting through Euron's wild fantasies.
Only a woman wedded through a proper, formal alliance could be claid as a rock wife.
Bedding a Stark daughter would be a deep humiliation for their house, reducing her to a re salt wife, but hoping for a legitimate marriage alliance was a fool's dream. The Starks would never recognize it.
"Relax. I have my ways of breaching Winterfell in record ti. Furthermore, I picked up a few little tricks during my travels across the Narrow Sea. I guarantee not a single feather of their ssenger ravens will escape Winterfell," Euron said with absolute certainty.
Recently, Euron had successfully replenished his own flock of dark ravens.
He was fully confident in his ability to sever Winterfell's communications with the outside world.
In truth, during his ti in Highgarden—leveraging the dragon egg to win Mace's trust—Euron had learned a great deal, including the exact details of how Jon took the Golden Tooth.
Others might not have connected the dots, but Euron had already deduced that Jon likely possessed the exact sa abilities he did.
Seeing Euron's unwavering confidence, Victarion's curiosity grew, and he actually found himself looking forward to fighting alongside his brother.
The two brothers chatted a bit longer, the tension between them easing significantly.
As Euron left Victarion's quarters, he ran straight into a hard-faced, stoutly built man.
"Ah, Lord Botley."
"Euron."
The stout man was none other than Sawane Botley, a fiercely loyal bannerman to House Greyjoy.
Sawane openly despised Euron, offering him nothing more than a frigid nod. Lately, Euron had been handing out gifts left and right—he had even gifted Balon a supposedly magical oil lamp that aided in deep sleep—and was swiftly weaving a web of goodwill among the lords.
Sawane had naturally received a gift as well, but he remained deeply suspicious and refused to acknowledge Euron's worth.
Euron didn't flash any anger, nor did he try to bridge the gap. He simply offered a light smirk and walked away.
Botley entered Victarion's courtyard and imdiately spotted the woman, who was clearly foreign to the Iron Islands.
Upon learning she was a gift from Euron, he imdiately warned his commander. "Victarion, tread carefully. Every gift Euron gives is laced with poison. If you ask , you should dispose of this woman imdiately!"
"I know, I know. I'll be careful," Victarion said solemnly, rubbing his nose.
"For this strike on Winterfell, His Grace is dispatching thirty galleys, three hundred longships, and eight thousand ironborn warriors. I will serve as your second-in-command. We'll hit the Stony Shore first—"
Longships were vessels custom-built for raiding. They boasted a shallow draft, blistering speed, and low construction costs. Their only drawbacks were an inability to handle prolonged deep-sea voyages and poor resistance to fierce storms.
Nearly every notable house on the Iron Islands could field a hundred longships on their own.
Galleys and larger sailing ships, however, were a rarity. Across all ten major houses of the Iron Islands, they could muster perhaps a hundred large warships combined.
Still, a hundred massive galleys backed by hundreds of swift longships were more than enough to go toe-to-toe with the formidable Redwyne fleet of the Arbor.
The armada mobilized for this campaign represented roughly a third of the entire Iron Fleet and a fifth of their total manpower. Yet, these eight thousand n were all seasoned elites.
After deliberating, the ironborn lords had unanimously agreed that Winterfell was practically defenseless right now. It was the perfect opportunity to send their sons and nephews north to scoop up easy battlefield glory.
Naturally, the veteran reavers and sailors accompanying them were no green boys.
"Right," Victarion nodded. Glancing at the mute woman beside him, he added, "Euron is coming with us."
"Victarion, are you serious? Is this because of that woman?" Sawane fud, deeply agitated by the decision.
He truly harbored nothing but sheer disgust for Euron.
"Let him try. He promised to lead the vanguard for us."
"Do as you please, but play with that woman and dispose of her quickly," Sawane muttered relentlessly before finally taking his leave.
Once he was gone, Victarion allowed the mute woman to serve him as he settled into a steaming hot bath.
Halfway through, the mute woman slipped into the tub with him. Soon, water sloshed violently over the rim, and the room was filled with the slick sounds of wet kisses.
After a heated session of passion, Victarion finally took a mont to study the woman's eyes. They were a deep, dark red. The longer Victarion looked, the more obsessed he beca.
In the days that followed, the bed-slave clung to him at every opportunity. Though she couldn't speak a word, her eyes seed to understand everything.
Victarion couldn't help but open up to her, recounting childhood mories of him and Euron. Miraculously, the woman responded with the perfect emotional cues, delighting Victarion and deepening his absolute infatuation with her.
Yet, how could he possibly know that every single sensation this woman experienced was being bead flawlessly into the mind of another? Or just what kind of dark soul was truly riding inside her flesh?
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