Dorian AragonaHis Royal Highness

The Frenchman's own gaze diverted from that newest object of his intrigue and to his own son, his head nodded in that silent assurance that Dorian was wholly permitted to excuse himself from their company if he saw fit. That single lift of the Monarch's eye he was afforded before the Italian excused himself prompting the return of that simper to his lips. That unspoke request to 'be nice' to the man that sat before him surely clear- even if it was largely unnecessary. Was he not always the picture of gentlemanly manner? His gaze returned in due course to Andras in that moment, that look almost lazy and yet not unpleasant as the length of his fingers continued to drum against the arm of that chair. He knew already what the man sought from him and yet for those first few moments he held little intention of awarding him any such knowledge. Not when this was his first meeting with a man he had last seen over a thousand years ago and still a babe in his Mother's arms. He had grown a little since then. The Frenchman content to judge that man entirely in those first few moments of their interaction and yet he afforded no outward sign he did any such thing. That faint simper continuing to linger upon his lips as if he found something amusing and yet held little care to afford anyone else the knowledge of what it was. That striking silver gaze meeting Andras' own then at that offered thanks. Matteo allowing his hand to wave lightly, as if to dismiss the offering. "I fear even I am incapable of turning down my son."

He offered the words simply, those lyrics deeply accented with that French lilt and yet they were true all the same. In all the world he had fathered but one Fae child. Dorian the very sum off his life measured and taken and compiled into one being. There was little he would not do for him even if the boy had yet to realise the truth of it. He had read of love over the years, he had felt it, at times, for but a handful of beings in his terribly long life. Yet how it paled to that love a parent might have for a child. That singular query on Andras' Mother prompting that return off his thought to the present. One finger lifted to run along that silver chain at his neck in a manner almost absentminded, that crucifix at the end of it toyed with between his longer fingers before they ran back along the chain in a method repeated, as if that very question required some internal thought even despite its outward simplicity. Matteo's gaze wandering from Andras to linger upon the other side of the room then, as if something of intrigue had captivated his attention upon the bookshelf of that rectory. Those words offered suddenly all the same."I knew your Mother before she met your Father. She was a charming woman."

He could hardly recall the last time he had thought of her and yet that fondness for a friend he remembered so well echoed within those words. His gaze returned at last to Andras then, that ever-present simper still tugging at his lips. He could see parts of her, within her son, even now and even after all this time. How he missed her- even if he hardly voiced any such sentiment. Matteo long having ceased to display those depths of emotion he was capable off when he chose. The man more often than not content to present the world at large with a vaguely amused indifference that betrayed little off his true intent."Before your Father, she was a part of another Monarchy as their advisor of sorts, she found me and attempted to convince me to join their cause." He paused once more, whether to afford Andras that time to consider that story or because he simply found his attention wandering remained to be seen. Dorian had called him difficult. How fitting. "I do not align with any Monarchy as a rule but your Mother tried with more tenacity than any other ever has. I quite think I drove her mad at times but I am want to do as such on occasion. We were very.....close friends for a very long time. Then she met your Father and our paths diverged. I came to see you when you were born. She was hoping for a daughter even despite my telling her you would be a boy. She seemed fond of you all the same." That final sentence was offered almost offhandedly, his finger continuing to run along that silver chain with a measured precision. That offered story affording just enough information to answer that question and yet those more intimate details were notably avoided. As if the French Fae was content to offer a taste of some delectable sweet- only to remove it the moment one desired more. The man providing no parameters for what extent that friendship between the man's mother and himself had existed as. That sudden query of that human blurted out abruptly.

Surprise at that sudden break from Andras' otherwise controlled decorum momentarily seemed to find his features. Matteo leaning back within that chair then, one leg folded over the other before that silver hue to his gaze abruptly seemed to retreat. That startling red flaring from within the depths of his gaze- the very reason for those sunglass on most occasions. That singular, potent affinity content to display itself dramatically in that fashion before that look near curious seemed to find him. His own head tilted slightly. "Oh." That such a word was hardly informative scarcely seemed to matter. Matteo taking a near great delight in making those around him wait for those answers. Few nearly as skilled as the Frenchman at intimidating those within his presence while encouraging them to stay all at once with those offered titbits. That silver returned to those iris' then before that grin danced upon his lips. "Beylani is her name. I am quite sure you know her. Not intimately. Not yet." One eye lifted ever so slightly in some vague indication perhaps of just what he might have seen. Matteo, it seemed, decidedly impossible to tell whether or not his words were prompted by that vision or indeed merely some amusement he took from pretending they had been. The man decidedly...infuriating when he chose to be. Those words that followed however- were decidedly more serious. Matteo frowning suddenly.

"A choice still exists for her and for you but it will come too late for her. Her path is already set and you cannot change it. Your choice will change an outcome though. It will change her- in a way. You are her end and her beginning all at once." That frown upon his features remained, Matteo's gaze suddenly shifting to stare at that bookshelf again as if something seen within that vision almost displeased him in some sense before his head simply shook. No explanation for those words offered. His attention returned to Andras in full. "Some things are fated to happen but, in this case, it will work out. If you trust nothing else, trust that. You won't believe me then but you will later. You will know what my words mean in that moment. I promise."

And in that sentence alone there was almost something...sincere.