She was undeniably a beauty. But your first is always beautiful, Theon Greyjoy thought.

"Now there's a pretty grin," a woman's voice said behind him. "The lordling likes the look of her, does he?"

Theon turned to give her an appraising glance. He liked what he saw. Ironborn, he knew at a glance; lean and longlegged, with black hair cut short, wind-chafed skin, strong sure hands, a dirk at her belt. Her nose was too big and too sharp for her thin face, but her smile made up for it. He judged her a few years older than he was, but no more than five-and-twenty. She moved as if she were used to a deck beneath her feet.

…

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