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Bess Zeller was one hell of a witch.

And this was one hell of a ceremony.

Bedazzled both by his charming companion and the outlandish hall they were currently standing in, Drystan found himself rather incapable of formulating many thoughts. The ones he did have, however, were focused on how lovely Bess and her dress were (the gentlemanly thoughts), how lovely she'd look out of it (the rascal thoughts), and why on earth anyone would spend this much money on a wedding. He was still wrapping his head around the idea that if people did have money, they would spend it, regardless of need.

For two seconds, he'd been dragged away from the lovely blonde's arm, since one of the Magical Games Department heads happened to be in attendance and demanded Drystan's undivided attentions regarding his team's unity and public displays of temper, and whatever other nonsense. Upon returning, however, he couldn't help but notice a tall, dark-haired man with his arms around her, though the tall, dark-haired man was certainly not him.

A very bad feeling began to prickle at the base of his spine. Unless Bess was in the habit of openly inviting the caresses of other men while simultaneously—well, maintaining relations with another, which he didn't believe she was, after all these months of knowing her, he was quite certain she'd just found herself in a precarious situation. Anger bubbled up inside of him, and he locked his jaw, surprisingly himself by calmly making his way up to the cozy couple with an eyebrow lifted, to ask, "Is there a problem?"