Dorian AragonaHis Royal Highness

It was foolish he knew, in every sense of the word. Yet, Dorian could not quite manage to alleviate those feelings of anxiety that tugged at him over that upcoming meeting between his Father and Andras. It was decidedly important to him that the pair of men, in the least, remained civil with one another and while the Fae King held little fear over Andras suddenly exhibiting any manner of unfortunate personality traits he held far less faith in his own sire. Matteo had not, in all the years he had known the man, ever been outwardly impolite to anyone within Dorian's company and yet the elder Fae could be a distinctly frustrating individual. More than that, he was entirely prone to offering people answers they often did not want to hear with little effort made to soften that blow. The Frenchman, Dorian had decided, was the very epitome of 'Fae' in every sense of the word. While the rest of their race surely made some effort not to be associated with the 'cunning tricksters' and 'mischievous beings' so many of those ridiculous story books made them out to be, the Monarch was rather assured Matteo was deliberately the opposite. Heavens but all the ways this night could go wrong!

One hand lifted to run lightly through his own brunette locks in some measure of concern, his form easing back into that plush leather chair that decorated the lobby of the Witchery- the hotel Matteo had chosen for that meeting and Dorian had so agreed to meet Andras in to offer those introductions. How very much he looked forward to returning home and back to Sebastian! The Fae King well aware his lover would be waiting for him the moment he walked back within the door even if the vampire had assured him he could surely find something to keep himself occupied with during Dorian's absence. That promise he would hardly be long having been uttered readily as it was any time they separated before the Monarch found himself situated within that plush hotel lobby. The very scene of Sebastian's and his own first meeting well over a year ago. Dorian allowing that smile to linger upon his lips at merely the thought of that night alone. His silver gaze glanced briefly upward at that clock then, Andras sure to arrive at any moment, Dorian allowing his fingers to tap a pattern of sorts upon that fine upholstery. He could hardly deny that he himself was curious in some measure of just what had become of Andras' court. To lose an entire Monarchy, so very many lives, was near akin to an atrocity. Someone, surely, within that expanse of history must know something more. Dorian quite unable to consider the grief with which that loss had surely come to Andras himself.

It was the sound of shoes upon that marble floor that drew his gaze upward, Dorian spying Andras readily then, the Fae King rising easily from his seat to greet the man then. That smile finding his lips easily. After all, Dorian had come to find Andras a decidedly decent being in every sense. His company was largely agreeable and more so, there was a pleasantness of sorts to be taken from spending time in the company of another Fae. The city, as most places it seemed, holding desperately few of their species. Dorian simply having become entirely used to being the only Fae in near any situation.

"Good evening, Andras. Shall we head upstairs? Matteo is staying on the top floor, he left me a key to his room so we might let ourselves in when you arrived."

It was near effortless, the manner in which Dorian so simply fell into step beside his companion once more, the man leading the way to that elevator then- a modern convenience he had, only some months ago, remained near utterly terrified off. Sebastian, once, near required to promise him endlessly that those elevator doors would reopen and they would not, in fact, be trapped within that small box forever. How foolish it seemed to have been afraid of such a thing now! That elevator reaching the top floor but a moment later, omitting the pair into that lavish hallway as Dorian led them to that room at the end, the key card lifted and pressed to the door as that light turned green, Dorian stepping through a moment later and into the room. This one, as all the others within that hotel, notably themed. That room near akin to stepping back several centuries in time to appear as the Old Rectory for which it was named. Gothic a decided understatement for that rich red and golden room with its dark furniture, thick carpets and ancient fittings. Dorian not at all surprised that Matteo had chosen a rectory-themed room in any sense, if only for that undercurrent of religion the man seemed to employ to un-nerve people. Dorian crossing that room to that lavish sitting area, his gaze falling upon the empty chair Matteo had been occupying earlier. This was unanticipated. That surprise lingering upon his features now. His gaze shifting briefly back to Andras then.

"Well, he was here the last I saw of him. I am quite assured I left him in this chair."

That near quizzical look traced his features then, Dorian pausing to glance further into that room and towards the bedroom- that room appearing equally as empty- had he been called away suddenly? Dorian rather assured a note in the least might surely have been personable. The Monarch turning back to face Andras once more, his lips parted to speak only to spy Matteo materialising in that singular moment right behind Andras himself. Dorian hardly attempting to smooth that sheer surprise from his features as Matteo proceeded to afford Andras a curious look of his own, the Frenchman rolling up and onto his tiptoes as if briefly attempting to compare his height to Andras own towering figure before abruptly stepping around him before the man should turn. For all that lack of similarity Dorian himself had shared with Ferdinand there was, perhaps, no denying the striking similarities between Father and son in that singular moment. Matteo the taller of the pair and yet that near same dark hair and equally silver eyes- concealed behind that pair of ever-present sunglasses- surely gave away that relation. Matteo, for all his age, hardly appearing a day over twenty four. "You must be, Andras then. I knew your Mother."

Those accented words easily fell from the elder man's lips as he moved to seat himself back in that chair he had occupied earlier, one hand reaching to guide those sunglass upwards to rest atop his head, affording Andras the full depth of his own silver gaze as his fingers tapped against the fabric of that chair. The man content to offer nothing more on that curious sentence he had offered. Matteo dressed simply in that white shirt and jeans, that ever-present simper resting upon his lips as he seemed to regard the tall man with some measure of curiosity- that sudden flare of red to his silver gaze giving away that affinity so often concealed behind the lenses of those dark glasses. "Oh, a human? Isn't that interesting." Dorian wholly content to speak over him in that moment least Matteo attempt to continue any further, what 'human' the man was talking about he so hardly knew.

"Matteo, this is Andras Stein, Leader of his own Monarchy, the man I spoke to you off. Andras this is Matteo Devereux- the Ambassador to France and- my Father."

His attention shifted briefly between the two in that moment. Matteo seeming decidedly pleased with that inclusion of 'Father' Dorian had so afforded him before he lent forward to offer his hand to Andras in turn. Dorian inclined to speak once more.

"I thought perhaps I might merely wait outside so you may speak privately with one another unless either of you should require me here?"