Dorian is a decidedly observant creature by nature, the man given to notice even the most subtle of nuances of his companions- even those he would rather not pay particular attention to and yet it had hardly escaped his notice that the woman that so boldly attempted to grasp his attention with all manner of inappropriate gestures- was jealous. Her gaze continued to roam to the man with the unusual white hair, her features seeming entirely displeased at each touch he afforded the dark-haired woman, Nadya, whom had driven them here in her terrible car. The jealousy of women, in any fashion, was hardly foreign to the King, the faintest tendril of amusement siring to life somewhere within himself at this very notion. After all, something it would seem, did not change no matter how the centuries passed and yet- it was his dislike for this woman that prevented the man affording her any true comfort or better yet- an invitation to dance as would have been decidedly gentlemanly of him in an effort to lessen her distress. This woman, he is sure, is a decidedly terrible creature and one he has little willingness to engage. It is politeness alone that sees him remain in her company even this long. Why this white-haired man however seemed to be the focus of so much feminine attention he hardly knew. He was, perhaps, a decidedly eligible bachelor. Such thoughts however hardly progress any further. The woman insisting this man was not her Master despite the fact she surely served him.

"Perhaps he is and perhaps he is not- your behaviour though, I am assured, is driven entirely by the very fact you fancy him regardless of your differing statuses. Liaisons between a Master and Servant however, are decidedly improper."

Dorian is aware, in every sense of the word, that he has very surely embarrassed her in some sense. His words loud enough for her alone and yet he makes no effort to hide the manner in which he chastises her affections all the same. A servant and a Master, ha! How very foolish even the idea. The woman proceeds to mutter something Dorian is incapable of hearing, the King having half a mind to correct her lack of manners once more before the conversation returns in full to Samantha, his own features frowning softly. For several moments the Fae remains silent, the silver of his gaze flicking from Samantha to Edith and back once more, eyes widening slightly at the admittances this woman seemed content to offer him. She desired to harm Samantha, or more so, her Master seemed to- at least according to her words. She was making some effort to warn him of this in an attempt to undermine her employer perhaps and punish him for offering affection to Nadya by discovering whatever plan, if any, he possessed for the Samantha. For all his flaws Dorian is hardly unintelligent, indeed he had grown up in a time and place in which political intrigue and favour with certain individuals could assure the life or death of a very being and as such, while he does not know each connection or each story he has, on some level, painted some picture of the plan at work. Samantha was in some sort of danger, whether by this woman or the hand of the snowy-haired man, Frost, he hardly knew and yet further information seemed unrequired.

"You mean to tell me that Frost has intent to harm Samantha and that you, his servant, seek to warn me of it before he can act? Am I supposed to believe this sudden purity of your actions? To be frank I dislike you both. I also dislike blackmail."

His words are decidedly disgruntled, Dorian rarely ever admitting a dislike for anyone, silver eyes narrowing suddenly upon the woman beside him. She was cunning, that much was assured. A cunning, crafty creature, the very sought whom would have thrived in the courts of the 15th century of his birth and yet....Dorian too had survived well before he had earned the title of King. Oh no, he had survived long enough to earn it, the shift in the man's demeanour decidedly subtle and yet there is a distinct and notable edge that seems to have made itself known. One brought forward by Edie herself. One he has had no need to display since his arrival here.

"She is Queen of Narnia."

Well. Dorian, in the least, believes it to be true. The Fae having turned to face Edie entirely now, Dorian drawn up to his full height as he regards her, voice decidedly cool.

"and I am King of Naples, Italy. You are very out of your place and we are dismissing you from our presence. Guards! Guards!"

It is, perhaps, not exactly a modern thing to shout and yet his voice is entirely loud enough to attract the attention of a large portion of the room and two rather sizeable security guards whom make their way over to the scene Dorian is rather rapidly making- quite purposefully. The man gestures easily towards Edie now, voice directed at the men he assumes are some modern form of guard.

"This woman has professed a desire to harm another and to have knowledge of an elaborate plan to carry out such harm."

The briefest of exchanges is afforded between the two men before both move in unison towards Edie, one declaring they needed to talk to her as Dorian searches hurriedly for Samantha once more- before his gaze deliberately returns to Edie- meeting her own with an almost pointed challenge. Oh how she did not truly want to make threats against himself or the woman he protected. She or her snowy-haired master.....

Dorian Aragona