Fate was a peculiar thing, so providing paths never to be taken whilst twisting and turning through events that, surely, could never be justified until - somehow, all those experiences and moments simply made sense. Whilst Sebastian was hardly narcissistic enough to suggest those near six hundred years the fae had been imprisoned had been entirely for his own benefit, there was little doubt that, had Dorian seen fit to explore those feelings that artist had held for him, there was very much a chance either of the pair would so be standing here before that bronzed statue. Though Sebastian had little words to offer the King, beyond that softly spoken apology for those feelings that beset the man, he hardly anticipated for the King to so declare that, upon further consideration, he hardly held any sort of anguish over those paths not traveled by. Instead, idly commenting upon that rather roundabout fashion that Sebastian himself had taken to arrive within the Italian's life. Fate was a very funny thing indeed. He offered the man a soft chuckle, a simper crossing his features and yet, he had no witty excuse to provide the man on why he had made the man wait just over half a millennium.

Thankfully, Dorian seemed willingly enough to forgive him of this blight, instead inquiring after the man Leonardo had, eventually, fallen in love with. It hardly took look for Sebastian to find the statue at Da Vinci's feet, pausing before it to offer Dorian a moment to survey the young man that had, in a manner of speaking, taken his place. He watched in patient silence as the King so inspected that statute, only to comment instead of that lengthy beard that marred the face of his once friend. That quiet laugh once again settled on the vampire's lips as he offered those words of reassurance that it was quite impossible and, therefore, certainly not a concern that his lover should fret over for particularly long. That observation only served to further that simper upon the man's features. "You have to be alive to grow hair...and breathing." He commented, providing his lover an almost playful wink. Although, usually, that simple fact of his death was often a difficult topic for the man, one in which he often struggled with, Sebastian had long ago come to terms with the simple fact that he was, indeed, dead. There were many nights early within his afterlife of sorts that the simple contemplation of those benefits that came with being deceased were all that got him through the night. Now, however, nearly two hundred years later, he was wholly glad for those few perks to his body's peculiar state, that lack of shaving being one he often took advantage of.

That contemplation of his personal hygiene, however, seemed short lived in the wake of that large building the pair were surrounded with, the art gallery had, naturally, caught the monarch's attention and, in turn, Sebastian hardly objected as Dorian's fingers intertwined with his, only to lead them towards the kiosk in the center of that front room. It was naive, perhaps, for the vampire to think he might pass through the city altogether unnoticed. Though he had known well enough that those numerous magazines had made note of his existence, he hadn't quite realized the extent of Italy's obsession with him as that crowned Consort. He was so incredibly used to being otherwise unnoteworthy unless he made himself otherwise that, the young woman at the counter recognizing him by appearance and, in turn, so effortlessly greeting him by those titles made him pause in astonishment. It was but Dorian's quick thinking that saw any further questioning to be quickly squashed and yet, even Sebastian knew well that the woman would likely be left considering the truth of that lie for the entirety of her evening. It was, perhaps, that simple encounter that saw the vampire subconsciously reach for that affinity he spoke little of, prepared fully to utilize those pheromones that had been his own gift for so long it it proved necessary.

Thankfully, that room Dorian so ushered him into was entirely empty in comparison to the one they'd come from, the large windows affording them a view of the city as if it was but on display itself. That abrupt inquiry on which of those paintings appealed to the man caused his eyebrows to furrow, his gaze sweeping over the canvases. A majority of those within this particular room were more of that Expressionism art that had so taken Germany by storm and yet, Sebastian found himself particularly despising that phase the art world had so undergone. Rather, it was that simple picture of the Italian hillsides that so drew him, the man crossing the room to stand before it only, for the King to inquire his preference in flower. A wholly quizzical glimpse crossed his features before he leaned closer towards that painting, finally picking out a simple crimson poppy from those otherwise bright oranges and yellows that filled that hillside. It was only once he'd announced that preference that Sebastian's gaze turned towards the man at his side, inquiring as to why Dorian had taken such an intense interest in his inclination. He hardly anticipated that Dorian intended to show him the newfound abilities he'd recently discovered but within England and yet, that simple admittance nearly made the vampire feel...guilty for the way in which he'd so kept silence on some of his own abilities, particularly those that he often utilized upon the monarch himself.

The vampire's lips pressed together ever so slightly and yet, trust was certainly not all that difficult for the vampire to provide his companion. Slowly, he nodded, simply watching as Dorian reached into his pocket to retrieve that pastel, only to press it into the wall beside that very painting. It was curious, perhaps, that defacing the walls hardly produced quite the reaction Dorian had anticipated out of him. Naturally, it brought a flutter of nervousness to his heart, his gaze momentarily drifting towards the entryway of that room and yet, at least that work was not on the painting itself - that surely would have given the man a veritable heart attack. His gaze slowly drifted back towards that much larger version of the red poppy he'd chosen, that hardly noticeable hue of white quickly shifting into brilliant shades of red and green. This alone, hardly was astonishing, after all, Sebastian had seen first hand that very gift Dorian was capable of time and time again whilst he so wrestled with recognizing and attempting to control the very emotions he was capable of provoking with those ivories under his fingertips. He'd made progress, certainly, but still not yet enough to find comfort in playing for any but the Monarch himself. His bright blue eyes briefly met the silver of his companion's before the King reached for that very flower, drawing that stem from the very wall! The vampire's head slowly tilted to the side as he watched with an altogether baffled glimpse upon his features as that once flat object became entirely three dimensional.

It was only once those petals had too been plucked from that whitewash stucco and, in turn, the poppy handed to himself that Sebastian breathed but a word, his fingers so delicately reaching out for that plucked flower. "That's brilliant, Dorian." He muttered, entirely in awe of the man's capabilities in this regard. His fingers gingerly rubbed the surface of those petals, as if testing the textural authenticity of it and yet, for all intents and purposes, that flower seemed wholly real. His gaze shifted upwards as his lover's hand reached forward to do the same, instead simply listening of that tale that had prompted the man's discovery of this. He was hardly surprised, really, that the King had taken to drawing the flowers that had adorned the Orangery, the place alone decidedly entrancing under the gaze of both sun and moon. It was but a bit of spring in the dreariness of English winters. Rather, it was the admittance that, rather than gold or food it was bringing those simply flowers to Sacrosanct for him alone that touched the vampire the most. In truth, he could scarcely imagine the pink of the Dog-rose, the twisting purple of the Round-headed rampion or the bright blue of the Gentians within his garden in that city they would inevitably return to. That soft simper crossed his lips as he stepped forward, his lips pressing gingerly upon Dorian's forehead. "Thank you, ma biche, for thinking of me." His forehead gingerly bumped against Dorian's own, the vampire having particularly little care of any passing souls that might have noticed that small moment of intimacy. Rather, as it so often was, the fae himself was the only thing the entirety of his attention so dwelled on, the vampire inclined, in that moment, to say the three words they rarely spoke, even if both knew those feelings existed all the same - "I love you."

Sebastian Ellington