CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Romulus stood at the helm of the ship, looking out into the foaming waves of the open sea before him, grabbing onto the wooden rail and squeezing so hard that he snapped it in half. Splinters flew all around him and he grimaced at the open sea, cursing the gods of the land, of the wind, of the sea—and most of all, of war. Cursing his bad fate. Cursing his defeat, the first defeat of in his life.
Romulus replayed in his head, again and again, what had happened, how everything had gone so wrong. He could hardly fathom it. It felt like just moments ago when he’d had that girl, the MacGil girl, in his arms, was across the bridge, had succeeded in lowering the Shield, had watched his men stampede into the Ring. The Ring had been his.
Then it had all gone so wrong, so quickly
