It was a distinctly uncomfortable feeling, one that only seemed to grow with his realization of it to begin with. He could hardly place it, more so, it was simply an instinctive assurance that this man was not the sort of man he should be talking to. His error perhaps but a moment too late, the words already free of his lips before he seems to make that connection between the discomfort that turns within him and the memory that, once, he had felt very much the same. It is a combination perhaps, of just that memory and indeed the displeasure that so seems to be growing that sees the often-eloquent Fae hurriedly rescind the very words he had only just offered. Dorian fully intending upon excusing himself from this mans company, his affinity already summoned and entirely ready to hide him from view should the fellow prove to be as poor tempered as the rest of his species had previously shown themselves to be. For all his airs and graces and indeed for all his boldness in most things, Dorian is hardly foolish enough to press his luck in this regard. King or not his title was, within this city, rarely understood and often poorly respected. The man having, at last, come to some realisation that his diplomatic immunity in most situations hardly seemed to exist outside of his own country. Or even his own century.

Dorian's own stride comes to a halt as the tall Hunter too seems to stop, the fellow seeming to have taken some momentary displeasure in Dorian's choice of words, the king frowning if ever so slightly upon the notion that people seemed to find such a thing decidedly offensive in this age, whereas- once, it was simply a common term. Samantha, it seemed, had been right about such a thing. This mention of Duke however seems to return Dorian's attention in full to the man, even his own hesitation forgotten if only for the pleasure he finds in having discovered someone whom understands the very use of the word. A simper he can hardly prevent presses readily upon his features before the hunter's words abruptly halt once more. For several seconds Dorian merely waits in some anticipation of hearing exactly what this man was the Duke off before the sudden and unexpected inquiry sees his own eyes lift. Attacked?

"I beg your pardon?"

The confusion within his face so surely reflects within the tone of his voice, a frown settling now as he attempts to consider exactly what the man means. That the marks upon his neck have so caused the hunter's distress remains wholly unnoticed by Dorian himself. After all, the ancient Fae was very near used to them by now, the man hardly ever affording any attention to the perfectly symmetrical bite wounds that so decorated his flesh. His silver gaze briefly attempts to follow the brown of the mans own- the Fae glancing down at his own shirt as if anticipating to see something that had so prompted what he believes to be a wholly unusual question before his attention returns to the tall Hunter.

"Is Your Grace attempting to imply that our taste in shirt is so abysmal that it looks as if we have been attacked?"

His tone remains polite, if not perhaps a little wary now, attempting to understand as to whether this was merely an attack upon his dress sense- Dorian having assured Samantha several times that such a shirt was most assuredly not his style. Her constant assurance that t-shirts were by far the most current trend upon men having at last seem him relent. Although in this moment he is inclined to regret his decision. He does however, afford his newest companion the respect of his proper title all the same. Even if he was something of a heathen. Dorian nothing if not traditional- his own use of language decidedly old before his own accented tones ring out again and towards what is evidently- an Englishman.

"We are not entirely fond of your outfit either if truth be told. You have very nice eyes but your shirt affords them little justice. You English and the dark colours!"

Had the mans eyes been a lighter colour, like the blue of Sebastian's then he is entirely assured dark colours may have worked as they so often did for his own lover. As it was, Dorian, it would seem, had entirely missed the point of the Hunter's question.

Dorian Aragona