Greatwater Lake Was a shooter with the law

She watched him from the corner of her eye as he approached, feeling the usual swell of superiority as he paused and sought approval. Her dusky eyes remained on him for a moment, her lip quivering over her teeth as she silently dared him to make a move against her... But Greyjoy never had. Never would. Nevertheless, she did not trust him, and greeted him in the same cold manner every time.

She dipped her snout earthward, granting him his permission, and settled to be groomed. Though Psamathe had no words for Greyjoy, she did speak up after a pregnant silence, if only because her mind was weighted down with questions she could not answer. “You were a hoplite,” she observed stonily, pinning the word to the air as though it was something vile. “Why would you leave and give up that title? What is it that draws you to my sister?” For she knew. They all knew.

Not expressly, of course. There had never been any open exchange between Greyjoy and Aktaie to make anyone nervous about his devotion. But Psamathe could feel that the male's devotion to the High Priestess exceeded all other devotions, and that alone made her curious, if not put off.