i used to rule the world

seas would rise when i gave the word

That simper so delicately toyed with his features as Dorian declared he was near remiss to miss that moment in which Matteo was bested by his own son. Alexander was assured it'd be an utterly sweet to see that glimpse of betrayal upon the fae Frenchman's features. Still, twas what he deserved for so keeping Dorian in the dark for near as long as he had. Even so, the Dark Hunter merely offered a small nod of agreement in return, "I am sure he will remind it of you frequently enough." He commented all too knowingly. After all, he'd hardly be surprised if, when the Frenchman finally gained his courage, he teased the Monarch relentlessly for such a treason. He was hardly oblivious in those moments, of how Dorian's attention tended to linger upon those objects that lined his shelves. The Macedonian King was perhaps equally as attentive as the man who sat across from him. That trait alone was one well suited for their role as ruler, even if Alexander had long since fallen from his throne. He hardly commented upon such blatant curiosity upon the part of his Godson. Rather, he waited in silence for the conclusion Dorian drew from such artifacts, hardly expecting that question of near insecurity that left Dorian's lips.

He could hardly help the way his gaze seemed to soften at those questions, much less the pang of sorrow he found himself feeling for Dorian's ignorance on this singular topic. It was with a sigh that he so made those efforts to reassure the man, that smile that so seemed to brush across the young King's features served to confirm that, for now, those doubts had been assuaged. Even so, the Dark Hunter was perhaps keen to suggest that Dorian had little reason to fear voicing those inquiries from the Frenchman himself. It was, after all, long past time the two men had held that conversation. He was hardly willing to allow Matteo's cowardliness on this very topic any longer, truly, the Macedonian even saw fit to add that any offense their shared comrade might take upon such line of questioning would be quickly squashed by himself if necessary - though he doubted it would get to that extent in the first place. He found himself doubtedly that Dorian truly understood how serious he was in such an offer, that warm simper far too jovial as he admitted he had every intention of speaking with the fellow in the upcoming week. He had little doubt that Matteo had seen this very future and yet, he suspected Dorian too knew this as well. Even so, Alexander offered the man only a small nod of approval before those topics drifted to something else entirely.

He supposed that question of how he'd come to befriend Matteo was not terribly surprising and indeed, the man was content enough to regale the King with a rather concise version of how they'd met all those years ago. He saw little reason to voice those meticulous details of how he'd watched with silent examination as the man's vision had so blatantly been disregarded in that war tent all those years ago, or the way Alexander's own far too strategic mind had come to same conclusion of the battle they would have soon been going into. He didn't utter of those times the visions had failed them or the way they'd once walked that line between being mocked by that early French army and being hailed as heros. It was enough, he supposed, to say how they had met and end with what they had accomplished. After all, he hardly wished to voice anything that might sully the views Dorian held of his own father. That question of why he had bothered, however, held answers that, perhaps, gave away far more than he usually tended to allow others to know of him. Still, he supposed that in some sort of fashion, Dorian had become family to him just as much as Matteo had - not that he'd ever admit such to the smug teleporting Frenchman.

He hardly expected that Dorian so effortlessly picked up on his heritage and yet, the Dark Hunter merely nodded in return. "I am, though we were not the only culture to have such seers. The Egyptians too regarded their's quite highly." And, in turn, so he too had regarded them as well all those years ago. Nevertheless, it was that mention of that book that was far too aged for Dorian to even read that caught the Hunter's interest, his eyebrow raising ever so slightly. "I should like to see this book of yours." He uttered softly. Getting his hands on any words of literature from his own time was a distinctly difficult undergoing, much less seeing his own language upon those often old and yellowed pages. Foolish though it was, he found himself clinging to any relic of a time that had long since left him in this prison of the modern world - far from the age he belonged. Such thoughts, however, were pushed from the forefront of his mind as Dorian so regarded that notion of Paris with utter awe, the kind that brought a small simper upon Alexander's features. "We have, though you would be hard pressed to find our names in any history books in the last millennium." In those ages, to admit one's infinitely long life was often suicidal - they were equally as likely to be regarded as Gods as they were to be stoned as heretics. Secrecy was always the safest bet - in fact, it often still was.

That insistence that he was bothersome, however, was waved off ever so nonchalantly in a fashion that few truly earned from the King. In fact, Alexander was more inclined to agree with most when they might hint to such a thing and yet, Dorian was a resounding exception. However, he did, momentarily so, push those lingering questions aside to state that he had a gift for the fae, one that he was sure Dorian might find useful in the centuries to come - though he too hoped it would go unused. He led the young man from the warmth of that cafe and upstairs to the comfort of his own cozy flat, the Dark Hunter entirely content to leave Dorian to his own devices as he hunted down that box that held a near plethora of coins that no longer held the same value they once did. He plucked that small misshapen silver disk from it's box before handing it to the man with a set of instructions on what it was to be used for, if Dorian ever found himself in desperate times.

He watched as the man ran his fingers over the surface of that coin with a sort of fascination that was altogether strange for one whom did not know the true worth of what they were holding in their fingers and yet, Alexander himself said nothing of it. Those words of appreciation were met with but a small nod, even if he suspected such a gift was not one Dorian had anticipated. He turned to place that box the coin had come from back upon that shelf that was so filled with other archaic oddities. He hardly bothered to turn towards Dorian in those moments, merely comment over his shoulder at the only words upon that coin - words he knew the fae was asking of. "It roughly says the coin belongs to King Alexander." He uttered simply, that simple sentence so revealing that position he once held a very long time ago.