Love was a fickle thing. few were so lucky to have it, the one thing money could not buy outside of a night of pleasure if one was willing to risk the chance of some horrid disease. no, money could not buy love, but it could very well buy marriage. marriage had never quite been an indicator of love among those of his status, perhaps that was the one thing those less fortunate had that someone like him never could, a union born out of true affection.

It could have been worse, he supposed. he’d not had a say in the matter of course, but in the few times he’d met his betrothed he’d been relieved to learn he was a degree above the nigh unbearable gossiping wretches he’d courted in his earlier youth. It had been only their second meeting when his bride to be had revealed he was in fact no woman, though the harsh glares of his aristocratic parents had meant such a conversation was only shared during their evening stroll amongst the gardens of his family manor, after Lestat had bribed the chaperone to leave them be of course. it was no issue to him, he had never been one to let the intricacies of such things limit his passions, after all, surely god would not have made man so beautiful if they were only to lay with women.

The day had finally arrived, it was all Lestat could do to comfort his husband-to-be, the disgust the other felt upon gazing into the mirror was clear, adorned in the finest fabrics and jewels, he looked every bit the part he was not, that of a blushing bride. “Mon chérie, ne sois pas triste, it is as i promised you, after today you never again will have to wear such things”

It was a small comfort, but all he could offer in this moment.