i used to rule the world

seas would rise when i gave the word

Alexander was hardly willing to simply accept that fate in the same fashion Matteo did. The Frenchman had known that path Dorian had intended to travel down far longer than Alexander had and yet, the Dark Hunter was well known for his stubbornness. That sharpened stare he presented Matteo with surely conveyed his own discontent, much less that scowl that crossed his lips at the sheer idea that fate had seen Dorian's path cross with that vampire's own in a fashion even they could not change. Matteo had seen first hand what that species was capable of in those numerous years the fae had spent at his side. It was sheer madness that the man might entrust not only his only immortal son, but the son of that singular woman he had loved far more than any of those love affairs before to one of their kind. There was something Matteo was not telling him, some glimpse of the future or the past that had provided him with enough reason to venture down such a distinctly dangerous path and yet, why he was failing to tell him when it came to a life they both cared for, he wasn't quite certain. His blue-green colored gaze remained steady upon the Frenchman, watching him with that clearly decisive stare.

A small frown crossed his features as Alexander considered the alternatives they had before them. Truly, without the fae King knowing the truth of that relationship between the Frenchman and himself, what weight did either of their words have when compared to whatever foolish affections he might have had for the vampire? Love made people do stupid things. Even Alexander himself had fallen under the sway of that powerful emotion. A soft sigh left his lips as his gaze shifted away from his age old friend. He knew Dorian deserved happiness within this world, a sort that neither Matteo or himself would likely ever achieve again. Their chance at happiness had come and gone. They had squandered it. "You know we could have prevented this if you'd told him you were his father years ago." He commented in an almost begrudging fashion. Alexander might have been tentatively willing to not actively make an effort to halt that relationship but he by no means accepted it as readily as his companion had done. Certainly he knew that there were some of that blood-thirsty kind that were not tainted by that same malevolence that came with that curse and yet, history had told him well enough to be skeptical.

Defeat was never Alexander's strong suit, his own mind keen to turn those facts over and over again in search of any detail he missed, to the point he hardly noticed the way Matteo's glance had shifted towards that now empty coffee cup. Dorian, it seemed, was vastly more important to him then even his own miniscule efforts to agitate his age old companion. It was only that notion that Matteo had been perhaps overly keen in his efforts to produce some level of fear within that vampire that captured his attention, the Hunter entirely assured the pair were more than capable of producing that terror within the creature if it might save Dorian's life. Even so, he hardly anticipated that trait of worrying from one of their kind. Perhaps those years hunting them had caused the man to be jaded. Alexander had seen their side become so fierce that it was almost out of place to think of those far more human emotions. His eyebrow rose at the idea and yet, he could hardly help that grin that slowly tugged at the corner of his features at that distinctly childish way in which he knew Matteo could be distinctly vague when it suited him. "I'm sure Dorian appreciates that." He muttered, his head shaking ever so slightly and yet, he could hardly deny he enjoyed that petty sort of 'revenge'.

Alexander had hardly expected for that conversation to so abruptly shift to those talks of marriage however and for a long moment Alexander considered it with a once again growing hint of dissatisfaction before finally agreeing to attend. The Macedonian man was wholly relieved to Matteo's reassurance that he hardly had to busy himself with finding a tuxedo just yet. After all, they still deserved their own chance to find their proper place within the fae King's life. For so long both of them had been forced to merely watch from the sidelines. Alexander blatantly refused to allow the Frenchman to continue to do so now that Dorian surely would have liked his father in his life. Even so, this notion that he would have to play nice with a vampire in order to do so prompted a rather unnecessary threat from his lips. He knew just as well what sort of things Matteo was capable of, hidden beneath that facade of indifference and mischievousness and yet, he said nothing of it, his head merely bowing in a small nod. It was with that simple understanding that Alexander was willing to drop that vampire he was so against, without even meeting. The Hunter instead pondered his own views of the Frenchman's son for several moments before, finally, admitting to that sheer naivety that filled every facet of the boy's demeanor.

There was a certain childlike wonder to Dorian that was both fascinating and utterly concerning all at once. It had been so long since the once King had been in the presence of a soul that saw such good in everything and everyone - particularly a soul of Dorian's age. Still, he could not deny that the boy did take after his father, even if it had been centuries upon centuries since Matteo had been nearly the same. He was, however, glad, at least, that Dorian had already experienced his first kill and too the despondency of those palace walls. Perhaps with such sadness behind him, and, perhaps, he supposed, with the presence of that Consort, Dorian might finally find not only happiness, but life. It was an idle hope and yet, one he had all the same, even as that conversation shifted yet again to his own adopted daughter and protege. It was with a discontented sigh to his voice that Alexander admitted she had returned to town in some foolish attempt to hunt down some child vampire for something having to do with her music box. That sudden flare of red to those usually silver eyes, however, prompted the Hunter into silence in those moments after, the King knew well what that look meant.

His gaze darkened at the mention of that child vampire appearing within Matteo's own visions. That urge to eliminate her if their paths should ever cross prompted a certain sort of unease within him, particularly with Anastasia on the hunt for that very child. He would have to discuss this foolish venture with her if it were not already too late. "I promise." He offered simply, a hint of concern hidden within the subtle wrinkle of his brow. He was fiercely protective of the young woman, perhaps as much as he was of Dorian himself. Though Anastasia was not directly of his lineage, she was still very much the woman she was today due to him. That clear disgruntledness about the Macedonian man was met with but the simple comment that she had always been wilful - though really, that put it incredibly lightly. The mention of that music box, however prompted him to sigh, even though he could hardly fault her really. After all, how many artifacts did he have of his own day? "I believe her grandmother gave it to her. She's quite fond of it - as the last bit of her life before this." Perhaps in this they had far more in common than he cared to admit. Any further thought, however, of that box was disrupted only by that sudden disappearance of the fae before him, those blue-green eyes slowly shifted towards the sound of that shift of those sheets.

His eyebrow rose ever so slightly as he eyed his friend, the man incapable of rolling his eyes. "Last I heard you owned more than Chambord." He pointed out and yet, Alexander hardly made an effort to chase Matteo out from that comfort of his own bed. "Move over, if you take all the blankets again I will push you on the floor this time." It may have seemed odd, the pair nestled together in the same bed and yet, really, how many times had they been in a similar position out of necessity? There was a comfort to be found in the familiar, he supposed, even as he stepped on the toes of his socks to pull them off. Alexander crossed that room, flicking the lamp off as he passed. His shirt was peeled from his frame as the Hunter settled at his friend's side, comfortably nestled in those sheets.