He had a wife, now.

Rabastan rolled his eyes at the thought, something that he never believed would become a fact in his life. Octavia was his wife, and by the looks of their extravagant wedding and reception, it was going to be a bloody long ride. At least she was pretty, beautiful, even. Rabastan would have had a much bigger problem if he had been stuck with a dog-faced woman like Parkinson was, or a woman who was mousey and quiet, with no opinion at all. As much as he showed his apparent disdain for his bride, Rabastan knew that he had lucked out.

Ugh.

The guests seemed to be having a delightful time, how very good for them. Rabastan knew that his brother was around somewhere, ready to humiliate him in some manner. Maybe Grayson could provide a wedding gift in the form of a deceased Rodolphus...that would be most pleasing.

His eyes lifted as he was approached, but he made no movement from his slightly slumped over position. His chin in his hands kept his head up, and Rabastan was quite sure that it was the only thing doing so. He wanted to go to bed, but since he could not, he would drink, and was already on his third, or fourth--whatever it was, glass.