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

There was a particularly long pause between his own words so escaping into that night sky and any true reaction from the man before him. Dorian considering whether or not the man had heard him at all, that look of inquisitiveness resting within his silver gaze as he continued to eye the other fellow all the same. He was sure, almost entirely, that he had seen this man before. Those memories so old they were near dusty with age and time and yet he seemed almost familiar. After all, Fae had been rare within his day, just as they surely were now, Dorian inclined to remember those precious few whom he had met within his youth. Matteo by far the most prominent within his existence, his oldest of friends so having watched over him all those centuries within that palace and yet he recalled a day when he could have been no more than merely twenty three or so himself in which the man before him had called upon his Father and Naples in turn to seek some sort of agreement. The nature of which Dorian himself had never been privy too. Indeed Ferdinand had gone to great lengths to keep Dorian away from Andras. As if he thought the older Fae might somehow corrupt the Prince. A ludicrous thought really- considering all that Matteo had taught to him over the years and too the sway of Leonardo- while hardly a Fae- had so managed to reinforce Dorians love of philosophy and art and all those things outside of battle even though he surely held a talent for it.

That sudden utterance of words as the other Fae lent forward with an overly casual air so returned the King's thoughts to the present. His words so inferring that he did indeed remember him, or in the least, so knew off his family and that he in turn surely was the man Dorian had so presumed him to be. He was not....quite as the Monarch so recalled him however. In fact, Dorian was quite assured he had seen the man smile once. This being he was presented with note quite as akin to the one of memory and yet still- Dorian was inclined to believe his memory was perhaps simply not as good as he recalled it. After all, it was centuries ago, Dorian had been so young then (though he looked exactly the same age now as he did then, Dorian veritably ageless) and as such he thought little off it for now. Even if there was something almost disconcerting about the manner of the man before him. Politeness, as it always did so winning out with the Fae King as his head merely nodded in affirmation. A small smile tugging at his features if only in pleasure at having recalled Andras correctly.

"Yes, I recall it somewhat. Did you ever get that alliance? My Father never disclosed his affairs to me, I fear."

Whether he had or had not, Dorian supposed, mattered truly little now. Andras calling him by name a moment later, so affording him that title that afflicted him now as King of Italy, it's territories and too many of its islands along with parts of Spain he had inherited from his Mother in turn. It is that mention off his Father once more and perhaps the simple phrasing of that sentence, that Andras hardly expected Ferdinand was still alive that so seemed to see Dorian's gaze narrow just slightly. The very nature of his human Father's death a topic that was, quite simply, entirely off limits with the man. No one in his Court ever dared to mention it and too any queries upon it were stricken from any and all records. Dorian momentarily wary of Andras' appearance here. Surely he had not come with any desire to dredge up those crimes of the past and the...curiosities surrounding Ferdinand's death? Surely he did not know? No, he couldn't. He didn't. Dorian so effortlessly rearranging his features into polite nonchalance once more. His head simply shaking.

"No. He died long ago. I fear I did not see reason to bring him into immortality. He disliked me then- he would have continued to dislike me now. Indeed I am King now- much to Ferdinand's eternal disdain I am sure."

There was something almost rueful in that smile. His Fathers disdain for him so well known that he hardly cared to hide it even now, his own shoulders merely shrugging before Andras eyed his guards, commenting upon their necessity.

"They are not here by my own wishes. The Palace insists."

He explains simply enough, assured Andras understood the way of such things before the other man so blundered into that topic of the curse and too the witches so responsible for it. He could not fault the mans curiosity, he supposed, after all, Andras had surely been one of the last to see that royal family intact. The query as to what he had done readily seeing him scowl once more. Such memories so forcibly pushed within himself if only for the pain those wounds still seemed to bear. His words entirely quiet then.

"It is true. Though my crime in that, I fear, was rather what I did not do as opposed to what I did. Yes, I will stroll with you if you wish it."

He merely paused then, waiting for Andras to rise so he might fall into step beside him- those guards following behind. Andras, it seemed, wholly determined to know of what occurred within that palace.

"It was during the inquisition. My Father did not believe me capable of bringing justice to those whom defied the catholic faith. He was right in that. I could not bear to bring my sword to anyone for that. He sent my eldest brother with me, Alphonso, to inspect an outlying village that so proved to be home to a clan of witches whom practiced those Wiccan arts and would not convert to Catholicism . My brother laid waste to it- and I watched. I killed no one that day but I condemned them all the same through my inaction. One survived. The clan elder and a witch practiced in dark arts whom laid that curse on our palace. A curse written in blood is all the more powerful it seems..."

His voice trailed off, his gaze glancing upward to Andras if only briefly. How little he liked those memories of the past....

"My family died over the years, one by one, unable to leave the palace..."

dorian aragona