There was a distinct heaviness to the silence that seemed to settle between the pair in the wake of Dorian so daring to ask after that very topic that had become a veritable taboo of sorts between the pair. In all the time they had been married those mentions of Isabella had been terribly scarce. Sebastian rarely dared to exchange more then that barest of words in regards to his deceased wife. Dorian, out of both respect for his lovers' privacy and too- a near ingrained politeness that had so governed much of his life- was reluctant to press that manner any further. Isabella was the past, after all. An unpleasant past perhaps and yet one the vampire had moved on from- or so Dorian had been inclined to believe. This very evening however had forcibly returned his lover's previous partner to the very forefront of the Monarch's thoughts. Dorian, for perhaps the first time, was so given to consider, truly consider, just how little he knew about that woman and indeed how very much Sebastian had kept concealed. How terribly impolite it felt to pry and yet, tonight, those questions seemed far heavier than they had before. Those answers are more important. How very at peace Dorian had believed himself to be with the idea that Sebastian had been married before. Tonight, if nothing else, having prompted the Monarch to consider the notion that he was perhaps not as secure in that idea as he had allowed himself to believe. Isabella, in a single evening, had proven herself to be a distinctly sore point. FOr them both.

Sebastian, at last, seemed content to break that silence with the soft insistence that illness had taken his wife all those years ago. Those illnesses, after all, were hardly uncommon. Mortal life was terribly fragile and yet the vampire was near determined to blame himself for his lover's death. A notion Dorian felt to be nothing short of ridiculous. After all, Sebastian could hardly be blamed for his wife contracting an illness and failing to recover from it. Disease was, by nature, undiscriminating. Surely Sebastian knew such a thing? Surely there was no way in which the vampire truly was responsible for her death, was there? Dorian's very efforts to comfort his lover were met with little more than a soft snort. The vampire, in this, so seemingly refusing to be swayed and yet Sebastian offered precious little more other than to simply confirm that fact once more. The pair plunged into veritable silence again. Oh how that very silence so disagreed with Dorian's own emotions! That complex tangle of distress, anxiety, concern, jealousy and a subtle fear for what remained unsaid all but gnawed at the Moanrch;s chest until that knot within it felt near akin to a vice. Had Sebastian perhaps....refused to heal his wife? Could vampire blood even do such a thing? Surely, if such was the case, there was some....reason his lover had been unable to save her? Dorian could so hardly deny that very distress he felt for Sebastian and Isabella both to even consider such a thing and yet, was he not glad Isabella no longer existed? After all, if she had not passed away then his own chance of having met Sebastian would surely be decidedly more limited. How very unkind of him to wish a woman dead! Yet- how hardly he could deny some sense of...satisfaction, no matter how horrid, that Isabella no longer lived. At least, not on this very plain of existence. Her ghost, after all, had proven decidedly...energetic despite its state of expiration. Those very emotions that weighed upon the Fae King were difficult, far more than he had anticipated. Dorian caught between that desire to comfort his lover and press all the more for the rest of that tale. Sebastian, after all, so hardly appeared...forthcoming. Surely he had nothing so terrible to hide, did he? Yet, why on earth had Isabella's dress been so bloodstained?

That very question seemed to prompt little more from the vampire then a staunch shake of his head. Dorian, in that moment, was unable to prevent the look of surprise that found his own features as Sebastian so simply...declined to offer him that answer before the vampire abruptly queried after Alfonso. How quickly Dorian's own gaze shifted from his companion then. His silver eyes instead surveying that room once more as if that damage so suddenly required his attention. That vice within his chest tightening all the more. He had never spoke to Sebastian of Ferdinand and what had occurred that evening all those centuries ago. Well before Sebastian himself had even been born. Indeed, in all the world, there existed but three other beings who knew that truth. Matteo, Alexander and Ferdinand himself. Dorian so having failed to evermention that incident again. It was a part of himself he so loathed. An act he had never truly forgiven himself for and how desperately he so hated the thought of Sebastian thinking of him as anything other than that very man he had so strove to be in the centuries since. Ferdinand's death so represented the single and only time in the entirety of his life in which he had....been angry beyond belief. Beyond control. Dorian's own affinities for those dark blades had terrified him that night and indeed he had no desire to think on them now.

"Alfonso did not understand the-"

Those quietly uttered words were abruptly halted. Dorian suddenly seemed to realise that Alfonso had not been what they were discussing. Sebastian, in that moment, so effortlessly having changed that very subject. That look of near distress upon Dorian's own features was all-too-quick to shift into a frown of sorts as his silver gaze returned to his husband's own. The Monarch's tone holding a near clipped edge.

"We were not discussing my brother."

Perhaps it was....unfair of him, in turn, to shift that conversation yet again and yet here and now it had been Sebastian's wife they were discussing. The wife Sebastian had so failed to afford him any answer on. His husband's clear deflection became all the more apparent in that moment. Dorian, for the first time, was near taken aback by his lovers clear efforts to...dissuade him from that topic wil so refusing to afford him those answers. Had Sebastian done something so truly terrible he would hardly speak of it? Ah, but how that worry seemed to claw at him all the more potently then! The Fae King, for the first time, pressing upon those very barriers of politeness he had never before seen fit to cross. His features holding little beyond a near wary confusion.

"Sebastian, why will you not answer those questions? What happened to Isabella?"

There was no loudness to those words and yet, this time, those accented lyrics held a distinct firmness. Dorian's tone, for the very first time, holding a near commanding edge. One that hinted at his own clear determination to pursue that topic- no matter what it might reveal. His gaze, this time, so refusing to waver from Sebastian's own.

Dorian Aragona