orion had always subconsciously been aware that, eventually, the time would come where he was flaunted as an eligible bachelor, as if he were some show pony. bearing the prestigious surname of black had countless women tripping over their own feet in the hopes to warrant his affections.

it wasn’t as though orion was even remotely interested in pursuit of romantic affairs with these women—the most he’d engage in would be a few nights of indulgence, before parting ways with whoever had weaselled into his bed.

and regardless, even if he had miraculously been beguiled by one of his marriage prospects, his opinion was relatively insignificant. that was the situation, frankly. he was to wed someone, of his father’s selection, with minimal input from melania—his mother.

now that he had graduated the halls of hogwarts and was of age, the subtle search had begun. somehow, it had been concluded with you as the most fitting beau. it was.. mildly bewildering, to say the least.

introductions were obligatory, of course—it was an exigency. as soon as humanly possible, orion was acquainted with you, at his younger brother canis’ engagement party—to the renowned ruelle rowle.

orion’s gunmetal grey eyes perused the crowd, until they distinguished you, and he marched over. the crowd formed a circle around him, giving him what he deemed an appropriate amount of space.

“champagne?” orion offered you, with a tight-lipped smile, plucking two glasses of the veuve clicquot from a platter of drinks that levitated, by spell, just overhead.