every king had a story, of ancient glory,sweetly told

It was a rare thing indeed to find the Fae King so alone on those streets and yet this evening he had found himself restless, more so then usual, his book simply failing to fulfil his curiosities and with Sebastian sure to be out for at least another hour or so the Fae had taken it upon himself to simply explore that neighbourhood beyond the house he now shared his boyfriend. Dorian having moved out of his previous apartment several days ago and into the vampires own lavish home that had been fitted now with those gates to so keep out the prying eyes of the paparazzi or any other him might have finally discovered their concealed location. The newspapers, after all, were relentless. The websites even more so, those gossip magazines for weak managing to somehow have a story upon either Sebastian or himself or both of them. The palace fortunately quick to prevent any less then flattering tale ever making it to press and yet still, so many of those things in those papers were often hardly true! Dorian relishing the peace they had found within this city and yet for how long they could hide from the public remained to be seen.

His own set of bodyguards trailed several feet behind him, attempting to appear inconspicuous and yet truly Dorian had given up attempting to have them appear any more casual then they already were. The men truly serious in their job, both of them of the Were species tonight, Dorian assured at least one of them was new- the man appearing unfamiliar to him and yet for once he had not bothered to inquire. Merely leaving them to trail behind him as they saw fit, entrusting them with his safety well enough. He was hardly in any sort of hurry, his steps languid and steady, the man content to eye those shop windows as he passed, amusing himself and his every present curiosity with that plethora of oddities within. That ring upon the ring finger of his left hand so assuring him Sebastian was entirely well, Dorian wholly anticipating to hear from him at any moment as was their nightly routine of text messages that had lessened and yet hardly ceased even despite Dorian so waiting for his lover upon that couch every night when he returned home.

He turned from that main street at last and toward the east, his feet thudding softly upon the sidewalk, the man once again considering the marvels of the modern world. Those cars and lights so illuminating a darkness that, once, was feared by both man and beast for what might lie within it. How the world had changed and yet too- how little the ancient Fae had forgotten of the past. Why he so turned into that park he hardly knew and yet Dorian had so come to find he enjoyed that greenery and the simple sensation of life that surrounded him. It appealed to him in a fashion, though whether it was tied to his affinity or simply to his personality remained to be seen. A simple glance so assured him he was alone in that moment, one hand reaching upward to brush across the nearest tree, his fingers feeling each ridge and plain of bark beneath them before that tree so responded- the smallest of flowers blooming in their wake. Dorian assured the tree looked all the more pleasant for it. A simper tugging softly at his lips. His Father had so constantly berated him for his tender-heart, for his love of the arts and culture and all those things Ferdinand had been assured were not pursuits for a man and yet- Dorian had held little interest in battles and wars. He had been better with a sword then Alphonso could ever dream, he had been swifter with numbers and words then any of his sisters, even Leonardo had so informed the King that Dorian surely held skill as a strategist and yet the man had so refused to listen. So refused to look upon his fifth son with any favour. After all, to look upon Dorian had not been to look upon his black-haired, olive skinned siblings. Dorian taller, fairer and perhaps brighter than any of Ferdinand's own children and how it had irked the man! Dorian little more than a living reminder of infidelity. A boy he was determined would never have that thrown and yet how fate had taken a turn!

For all his father's blustering and disdain of him, for all his efforts to marry him off at barely fifteen the boy had so pursued his more academic interests and by blessing of his Fae blood so outlived every sibling until that Crown sat nestled (metaphorical) atop his head. Ital determined to praise its King for his diplomacy, his kind heart and that ever pleasant attitude he wore. The country, for the most part, even having some to accept Sebastian as his consort. Such thoughts danced ideally within his mind as he progressed further into that park, arms folded behind him as was his manner of walking before a singular glowing being so captured his attention. Dorian's affinity for life assuring him something living surely existed just before him. His silver gaze narrowed slightly as he eyed the man. One he was quite sure was....another Fae. How rare within this city! How rare anywhere it seemed. Fae by far the least present of any race in any nation it seemed. Shall we shoo him away, Your Majesty? Dorian's head inclined briefly back towards the guard whom had spoken, his hand waved in that dismissive gesture, assuring them he hardly required them to 'shoo' anyone whom was merely sitting on a park bench. The Monarch quite sure he need not claim the bench for Italy and that anyone was entitled to sit upon it.

He held every intention of passing the man all the same and yet it was only as his feet carried him ever closer upon that path that he so paused in his tracks once more, features frowning now in some consideration of a memory long since forgotten within the dusted confines off his mind. The fellow almost seemed familiar. Almost. Dorian not entirely sure and yet.....and yet.....

"Mi scusi signore. Mi perdoni, ma io ti conosco? Appari a me familiare. Credo che ci siamo incontrati molti secoli fa, nel mio palazzo a Caserta, Italia, è che così?"
(Excuse me, sir. Forgive me, but do I know you? You appear familiar to me. I do believe we met many centuries ago, in my Palace in Caserta, Italy, is that so?)

His words so fell into that faultless Italian all the same. The Man before him appearing distinctly as a man he had once met several centuries ago when he himself a been far younger and before the nightmares of his own imprisonment. Surely it was not him, not that man whom had stayed within that Palace, Dorian assured he remembered him and yet- did he remember Dorian? That Prince now a King.

"Andras, isn't it?"

dorian aragona