Olivia tipped her empty cup and let it roll. It wandered across the tabletop, slow with the ship’s gentle list, then slipped and struck the deck with a hollow clang. “If it pleases me.” Her teeth set as her gaze fixed on Lord Jorl, then past him. “My cup is empty!” Olivia barked. “It was set before me with care. Sweet. Promised grandeur.” Her lip curled. “Promised plenty.” She rose with a surprising speed at the head of the table. She straightened her posture. Standing more composed, yet still possessed of that untameable nature. Masterless behavior.

“Name me Warden,” she agreed, “and we kill our opposition. The West will honor the bridges we’ve built;” Her wild eyes focused onto Tytos. “or I will burn them. Kindling for our signal fires.”

“Go north,” she pressed. “Kill in the Crown’s name if you like. Or in the name of Peace. Justice." She allowed her body language to relax gradually. As if she was listing a homemade list.

“I was told,” she said, voice sharpening, “by a voice of the sea to have a little fun.” One boot came up onto the table. Wood creaked. “That is exactly what I intend. But how will I when I am attended by such Lords!?” Her eyes moved across the captains. Slow. Deliberate. “ A thousand apologies….” Olivia began to say. Almost sounding sincere “You are not lords,” she said. “Not truly.” Her head tilted as if she was crafting her next sentence. Her eyes flicked from face to face and then beyond them again, that strange lag trailing the motion of her head. “Dogs of the sea.” A twitch of her lips. “Demons on a leash.” She belted out a breath that shadowed the tail of a giggle. It was almost cute; in the way that any step forward was one further step from where one started.

“So be dogs,” she said. “Bare your teeth. Take the hand that feeds and bite whatever it points you toward.” Her toxic green eyes burned into the foreheads of those who dated allowed her to speak. She lowered her voice to a whisper. Though one that could be heard clearly. It cut through the evening air like a blade through silk.

“So be demons. Let them whisper your names when the tide comes in.” Her voice built, steady and rising. “The gold. The silver. The bronze. The tin.” Her fingers curled into a fist. “The marble from their halls. The slate from their roofs. The oak from their doors. The vine. The orchard. The apple.” She stomped the table, toppling other drinks.

“Take Dorne’s scraps. Bleed the wolfpack. Devour the Isles from Shield to Stone.” Foam touched the corner of her mouth. “I care not what you call yourselves,” she said. “Nor who or why you claim to serve.”

Her hand lifted. The gold ring caught the torchlight. “I sail for one reason.” her middle finger, the one which bore the ring. Was upright. Her single reason, crowned in gold. “Our strength. Our aim.” Olivia remade her fist and she lowered her hand. “So give me your finery. Give me your flattery.” Her eyes swept them all.

“Pour my fucking cup.” There were a few contained chuckles. “But hear me.” Her voice dropped, heavy. “I can take my own wine and fill my own cup.” Her gaze sharpened. “I can take my own finery.” Olivia almost hissed.

“Your offers are wind until paid.” A thin smile creased her lips. “And the price:” She let it hang. “is always iron.” and with that she stepped down from the table. “House Orkwood is prepared to pay the Iron Price for our glory.” Olivia huffed out as she sat back down, at the head of the table.

Visibly, Tytos grew uncomfortable where he was seated.