Sebastian Ellington

Crowned Consort of Italy

Unlike his fae fiance, Sebastian had never terribly been comfortable with the eyes of so many settled upon him. For so long, the vampire had merely drifted in the backdrop of the world, holding the attention of but three or four individuals at any great length of time. Even in his youth, his position in the English aristocracy had never been great enough to garnish any great consideration beyond his family's near endless ambition and noteworthy determination to better themselves in that game of court. To become the focus of the Italian court and the public at large had been somewhat of a difficulty for the vampire. He was, more often than not, the very epitome of poised and refined and yet, upon his first appearance within Dorian's court, even Sebastian was not immune to that nervousness that had settled within him upon being gifted that seat at Dorian's side with that crown upon his head. Now, thankfully, he had become more accustomed to that steady sensation of being watched. His senses had begun to ignore what had once caused the hairs on his neck to stand to an end. And with but the congregation in the cathedral alone to worry of at the present moment, it was all too easy to get lost in that silver hue of the eyes of his very soul mate.

His own brightly colored gaze softened at the genteel touch of Dorian's hand within his own and though he very much found himself yearning the kiss the King he so adored, those traditions all but demanded otherwise of him. His hand softly squeezed his lover's own in that sweet reassurance as he slowly turned to lead the way towards that altar. The vampire dropped smoothly to his knees upon that plush kneeler, with the Monarch at his side. Though Sebastian did his best to keep his hands to himself, his fingers remained intertwined with his lover's own throughout the extent of that exceedingly long sermon. His thumb gingerly caressed the silken flesh of the back of the King's hand in a display of clear affection. Waiting for the Pope's instruction pressed upon the extent of Sebastian's patience, those minutes near stretching on for nearly an hour before His Holiness finally saw fit to call upon the Italian King and his Consort, requesting them, finally to rise. That warm simper once again settled upon his lips in the mere anticipation of what he knew was to come, even as he rose from that padded prie-dieux.

It was this very moment, truly, that Sebastian had been waiting for. It was the knowledge of what those wedding vows and utterances of consent meant that had prompted the man to finally, metaphorically, get down on one knee and ask for Dorian's hand. To merely be the man's Consort, his boyfriend, by modern terms, had long since stopped being enough. He wanted to give the man that very promise of an eternity, and that selfish portion of him so very much wanted that very commitment in return. Those two words required of his lover were so simple and yet, it seemed as if they had a unique ability to so coax within the fae a sort of emotion that only furthered the grin upon his features. Dorian was, eternally, the far more sentimental one of the two and yet, Sebastian adored that very trait. The Pope's attention turned towards himself, that very inquiry so ringing out in that cathedral and yet, Sebastian's own response came without hesitation. That very promise was one he had so intended to fulfill regardless of whether or not it was ever truly voiced.

He was well aware of that shifting of the two men in that front row, the cathedral itself near silent as the congregation waited with bated breath. Sebastian's blue eyes shifted briefly towards Giles and Alexander as the elder Hunter approached first with that velveteen pillow, that ring Dorian had given him all those months ago resting so innocently upon the very center of it. Tonight was the first evening he'd taken that ring off since he'd been given it, the metal near shining from its clear recent cleaning and polishing. He watched as Dorian plucked that ring from its place, reaching for the vampire's left hand. It slid on with decided ease onto his ring finger, symbolizing that very marriage and commitment the two were moment's away from taking on. Even Sebastian was hardly unaware of that far more primal meaning that piece of jewelry took on. After all, those simple ideas of ownership were quite near ingrained in the vampire. As an Apex predator, certain territorial tendencies certain ran rampant within him and yet, he was so utterly willing to belong to Dorian alone. His gaze fluttered upwards towards the King in a near expectant fashion.

Those Italian words were, perhaps, far more of that spoken emotion than either man had ever verbally gifted one another. Once upon a time, Sebastian had fretted any sort of topic that might be disheartening in any fashion. More often than not, even to this day, he avoided bringing up those more difficult subjects, even if he no longer feared it chasing away the Monarch. It was, somehow, reassuring, in a way, to hear those very words that Dorian fully intended to be there in spite of it all. Through all of that joy they found in one another, and too, in all of the hardships he so attempted to shield the King from. In all of it - there was the promise now of them. He could hardly voice what that meant to him and though that simple emotion began to tug at the vampire's composure, he was certainly aware that he was hardly the only one. That wetness within Dorian's gaze hardly went unnoticed by the vampire and though he knew well that such was a result of the joy and emotion within that very moment, he could hardly help those feelings within him to soothe the King and stop those very tears from falling. "Breathe, Ma Bichette." He whispered softly to the Monarch as Giles stepped forward to present that diamond and gold ring that so awaited him.

Gingerly he reached out to pick up that brightly shining ring, the bright red thread visible within the center of it - a very symbol of that near fated love. Sebastian took Dorian's left hand within his own, the vampire easily slid that golden ring upon that designated finger, exactly where he was sure it belonged. That possessive part of the man held some sort of satisfaction in the mere sight of that ring and all it surely meant in that singular moment. His own lips parted, those traditional English words repeated with a certain sort of ease, even if that vow he offered Dorian was far different than the one he had given his first wife, all those centuries ago. "I, Sebastian Felix, take thee, Dorian Valerio, to be my wedded Husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love, cherish, and obey, till death do us part, according to God's holy law. This is my solemn vow." He paused quite purposefully, ensuring his lover was prepared for the last portion of that distinctly British tradition, that ceremony a near-perfect amalgamation of their own distinct cultures. His voice joined in near perfect unison with Dorian's own in that final vow, "With this ring I wed thee, with my body I worship thee, and with all my worldly goods I endow thee. In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen."