If he had done it. Ha. Matteo knew perfectly well that he had. He merely had no proof of his companions meddling in those political affairs and- if he knew Alexander near as well as he believed he did- the age old Macedonian would continue to pretend as if he had little idea of just what he was speaking off at all. That falsified innocence clinging to the Hunter with that easy shrug. That ever subtle simper lingered briefly upon Matteo's lips by way of response. The Frenchman content to admit defeat in that idea- at least for tonight. His attention retuned to the task of packing away those few remaining mugs before crossing that floor and collapsing into that arm chair that had become his own favoured seat over the years he had resigned Alexander to the café. He would be almost sad to see the little store go once his companion was released from their bet and yet, the Fae had become used to those fleeting locations in their ever-long lives. Matteo assured he could find some other mundane job to force upon the Hunter the next time they became entirely too drunk to remember what they were gambling for any longer. That passing woman in her far-too light dress momentarily seemed to capture the attention of both men, Alexander affording her that snort of derision before commenting upon the habit women seemed to have these days of regretting their outfit choices much later in the evening. Women, Matteo thought, had been prone to such decisions since the dawn of time. Not that he found he minded particularly. Women with unfortunate outfits were often keen to be removed from them, the Frenchman, ever the gentleman, assured he had forever been willing to play such a roll in assisting them in such a task.

His gaze drifted with ease from that girl upon the street then and back within that coffee house. His thoughts content to drift with them, that game of sorts offered upon his lips within near the same moment. Matteo well aware his companion would not let such a chance pass him by- he never did. Those games they played with one another long since having become near his singular point of excitement, outside of Dorian, in a world that had become almost predictable to him in a fashion. The Frenchman assured even history itself had fallen into repeat in one way or another. What else was there to do but test his wit against his oldest of companions in any way he could think off? Alexander one of those few beings still capable of surprising him. Even after all this time. That painting the Hunter raised him saw the lift of one eyebrow. Matteo having admired that piece for many years now. "I have always enjoyed that piece. I do like cats. It reminds me of someone I know." Alexander's dislike of those felines was perhaps the very reason for his own favouring of the animals in turn, that ever-knowing grin daring to touch his lips again. Matteo so eternally appearing as if something within the world amused him even if he rarely afforded anyone around him knowledge of what it was. His silver hued gaze turned towards that door then to see which of their children arrived first.

That arrival of Dorian a short time later only seemed to further that subtle grin upon his lips, the huff that fell from Alexander- along with that pointed look- was hardly missed and yet for now Matteo offered it little response. The near ancient Frenchman offering his own son that greeting before inquiring after his future son-in-law, Matteo hardly unaware of the fashion in which Alexander's attention seemed to fixate upon that conversation. The hunter still holding those reservations of Dorian's choice in future husband and yet Matteo hardly sought to argue with him. Alexander was not at all the sort of man to be easily swayed unless he was off a mind too. The Frenchman largely aware that the concern came from care for Dorian all the same, in as much as that softly uttered mention of the dark came from that same concern for Anastasia, those hints of emotion decidedly rare in Alexander in any sense. Matteo's own words offered softly then. "She will be fine, I have seen her". It was easy to assure his companion of that more immediate future if only to eliminate that worry that he knew turned within the man. Dorian inquiring as to just whom he was here to meet, that word no sooner seeming to fall from Alexander's lips then the woman herself chose that moment to appear.

It had been an age since he had last seen that slender, elegant Russian woman, a creature too fine to be of Alexander's creation he was sure and yet her mere entrance seemed to prompt the Frenchman to rise from his chair to receive that embrace. The girl having become a niece of sorts over those many years and one he adored even despite her initial taciturnity towards him. That genuine smile that adorned her features prompted one of his own as he returned to his seat. "I have missed you too, ma douce. I am greatly intrigued to hear of what you have been doing of late, you know I am always interested". He always had been. No matter how small or simple or mundane the young woman's day had been he had always been intrigued to hear of anything she might care to share with him. After all, how many nights had he sat long into the darkness with her while she spoke of those things she loved or hated or missed or worried off? He enjoyed her words and but any part of that life she chose to share, his gaze lingering on her still as she afforded Alexander that greeting in turn. She was good for him. He had long believed in that. His hand gesturing loosely then to Dorian. "I fear this is a meeting long overdue. Dorian, this is Anastasia, Alexander's daughter. Anastasia, this is my son, Dorian."

Dorian could so hardly help the surprise that seemed to find his features in that singular moment. Alexander never yet having mentioned a child nor a wife. The Fae King so simply having assumed his Godfather held neither and yet given the sheer amount of time in which Alexander had lived it was perhaps, a largely improbably thing to consider. After all, how did one live over two thousand years without acquiring at least one child? Yet the man had never mentioned such a being in any sense. That surprise had no sooner fallen from his features then the singular ringing of that bell saw the Monarch shift within his seat, his silver gaze falling upon a truly exquisite woman as she strode across that floor. Her shoes taping upon it's polished surface as Dorian near hastily rose from his seat. Those age-old manners still well intact within the Fae. A woman's presence so requiring he stand regardless of his own status in that world. Dorian content to remain silent as those greetings were exchanged and yet how evident that affection within his Father's voice so surely was. That single utterance of those French lyrics drawing the man's attention as they were given. It was decidedly rare, in any sense, to see Matteo offer that genuine affection to another and yet in some way, somehow, this young woman so seemed to have earned it. Dorian wholly oblivious in that moment to just whom she had been in life as her attention fell upon him.

"It is my pleasure and please, Dorian is quite sufficient."

Neither Matteo nor Alexander afforded him those titles and as such he hardly saw any need for Anastasia to do as such. At least, not while they existed within a coffee shop in the city and out of that public eye that, of late, seemed to follow him near everywhere he went. His hand reached easily for her own. That delicate, feminine appendage taken gently in his own before lifting her hand softly to his own lips in that age-old and time honoured greeting shared between nobility. A greeting that had long since been exchanged for that modern hand shaking Dorian hardly understood and largely found bizarre. He released her hand but a moment later before gesturing to the nearest chair, the Monarch content to wait until she had taken her seat before returning to his own. That ever present curiosity turning readily within him ten and yet one perhaps more potent question seemed to linger at the forefront of his thoughts. Those accented words offered to Anastasia then.

"Forgive me, but you must take very strongly after your Mother. Your eyes are similar to Alexander's though."

That soft chuckle from Matteo saw the Fae turn towards his own Father in that moment, that near quizzical look upon his features once more as the Frenchman softly shook his head. "Anastasia is Alexander's immortal daughter, not his by blood, though the relationship is much the same." That look of intrigue continued to linger upon the younger Fae's features then. Dorian, until that moment, hardly having considered at all how Hunter's went about creating other Hunter's. Was it in the same fashion as a vampire was made? Or a Fae? Dorian, in truth, knowing truly little about the procedures for either of those in turn. After all, it had been Matteo whom had turned most of those humans within his own court whom had made that choice to become Fae all those years ago. Dorian knowing enough of the process to know he did not care to hear the details. Perhaps such a question was better not asked of Alexander of Anastasia in turn. Lest it cause some measure of distress. Dorian instead content to speak of another matter entirely then. After all, it was rare he was given to be in the company of a woman such as the Lady Anastasia clearly was. The Fae King reaching briefly into his jacket then to produce those two crisp, white slips of paper.

"I know it is so we have just met but I should very much favour a woman's opinion on this matter. These are two of the invitations to my wedding my fiance and I are so attempting to decide between, might I ask, Anastasia- to which of these do you prefer?"

Those two invitations, one ivory and one pearl in shade were both held towards the woman then. Dorian quite curious as to her preference, the man shifting just so as to offer Alexander and Matteo a view of them. The Frenchman reaching out to take that ivory paper, turning it over within his hand. "Are they not both white?" That near exasperated look found its way to the Monarch's features then, Dorian frowning slightly at his Father then.

"One is ivory and one is pearl- they are not white."
"Oh I see."

Dorian so choosing to ignore the amusement that touched the elder Fae's voice then. Matteo so taking that moment to lean towards Alexander, his voice little more than a whisper to the Hunter. That invitation still held in his hands.
"Does it look white to you?"

"Matteo, I can hear you."

His Royal Majesty

Dorian Aragona

The King of Italy