Oz scoffed. Make a point to whom? Who did Endymion think was waiting in the wings whose opinion Ozymandias valued so much he would be willing to sacrifice his future happiness for? And precisely what point would be made in marrying her? She wasn't a particularly prestigious bride, for someone like him; she was a working woman from a considerably less wealthy background. There was no incentive for him to marry her except the obvious. If he'd been trying to prove that he could get her to say yes, or something ego-centric like that, he could have accomplished the task with just a proposal; he need hardly have planned a wedding to prove the point, much less go through with the vows.

He rolled his shoulder back from his brother's grasp, but lazily. Oz's attitude was not that of a man struggling to free himself, but of someone brushing off a fly that had landed on their arm. "Endymion, just because you don't understand what I'm doing doesn't mean I don't know what I'm doing. I intend to marry Miss Pomfrey," he said levelly. "And I intend to remain married to her the rest of my life, or hers. Now — if that's all you wanted to say, you can go. If you're staying, pour me a drink."

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