He could pretend that they were connected, that they were one. Wedding vows were not as powerful as the bond that they had, the skull and serpent that marred their flesh. Rodolphus had done it for her, and she would love him for it.
At first, she did. In the beginning, she was almost his, and Rodolphus was happy because almost is better than not at all. She looked at him, smiled at him, sometimes even shared his bed. But she never spoke those three words, even when he spoke them first.
He knew why. He saw the way his wife looked at their master, the way she leaned in as he spoke, as though she could never be close enough to the Dark Lord. But, in spite of her efforts, Bellatrix could never have him.
Rodolphus could almost delight in that fact. She was his, if only by marriage and because their master was cold and untouchable. It was a bitter sort of triumph, but it was enough