The young god rowed across a violent ocean, voyaging to wed a bride he did not want, a cold Titan witch: Circe's daughter. Waves as tall as castles rolled beneath the hull. He plied the oars with rapid strokes, traveling alone in his small boat, cursing the hurricane at the end of the world, moving against the current and wind. A son's duty powered his work at the oars, not passion.
Greater gods than he arranged this marriage, uninvited. He did not wish to be the agent of their diplomacy. His important business was in Thrace and Ireland. He had sweet ladies, mortals, to entertain in Venice and Normandy. This wedding was a detour, a distraction. He journeyed for honor, not love, to fulfill an ill-conceived promise that could not be undone by his own good reasoning or desires.
He never liked passing through the storm between the worlds, but on this day it seemed worse than ever and the farther he went, the more it raged, as if to blow him back to Britain. Why so difficult? He must cross this barricade to reach the world of immortals, then find Circe's island. Perhaps she made the journey especially impossible now, to test him.
Slowly his thoughts turned as cold as the waves that washed over the stern.
Typical, creating a fucking storm when all he was trying to do was the right thing. Bitch. Jesus, all he'd done was knock up her daughter, and now he was going to spend eternity under her thumb. Did he deserve that fate? Did anyone, really?
Too late to back out now. He kept rowing. There was one small kernel of comfort: Odysseus had told him Circe was a real MILF. But still. He wished he'd just joined the Army.
Opening: Susan Brown.....Continuation: Stacy