How that very silence only seemed to increase the worry within him! How rarely they were ever quiet with one another. Indeed, Dorian could so hardly remember a time in which Sebastian and himself had ever fallen into such an uncomfortable silence before. The pair never so much as having exchanged a cross word with one another. Yet how terribly heavy that quietude seemed now. Dorian, in that moment, was entirely unable to shake that feeling of discomfort that seemed to settle upon them both. This was so undoubtedly the first time the Monarch had ever felt anything less than contentment in his lover's company. Sebastian seemed so terribly uninclined to answer those questions. His lover's reluctance failed to assuage those worries that gnawed at him. Indeed, Sebastian's determined deflection only seemed to increase that concern within the Fae King. What could be so very terrible that Sebastian was unwilling to tell him? His lovers adamant insistence that Isabella's death had been his fault seemed wholly foolish and yet there must surely be more to that very story. Indeed, Sebastian seemed almost...ashamed perhaps. Was his husband's sense of guilt so truly great that he refused to tell him of it? What did he fear so desperately much as to keep it from him? That blood that had stained Isabella's dress hardly seemed too fit with that information Sebastian had provided him. If Alfonso had appeared in his ghostly form just as he had the day he had died then was Isabella not the same? What sort of illness prompted such profound bleeding? The very notion that Sebastian might perhaps be....leaving out the whole truth settled with unease with the Monarch's mind.

His husband's deflection of that question he so clearly found painful was nothing short of masterful. The vampire's mention of Alfonso was quick to derail Dorian's own thoughts. The Fae King was unable to prevent the way in which his gaze hurried away from his husband's own. Indeed, in that moment, Dorian was nothing if not focused upon the wreckage around them as if that splintered wood and crumbled drywall might yet provide him with some answer he had failed to see. The death of Ferdinand was a single moment in which Dorian had been....far less then the man he strove to be. How he both regtreed Ferdinand's death and yet....did not all at once. The Italian King had gotten what he deserved- of that Dorian was certain. His belief was steadfast and yet still, his own viciousness that night was deplorable. Even to himself. How desperately he did not want Sebastian to think of him in such a fashion as that! After all, Sebastian's opinion of him mattered a terribly great deal. More than perhaps Dorian had ever truly considered until that moment. His voice, when it came, was nothing short of soft. The Fae King insisted that Alfonso had not understood and yet- that sentence so hardly found its completion. The Monarch, all at once, seemed to become aware of Sebastian's efforts at deflection. That subject having been so flawlessly changed from Isabella to Dorian's own ghosts.

That near worried distress that had so marked the Monarch's features was quick to shift into a ready frown as his silver gaze shifted back to meet the bright blue of his husband's own. Dorian's words, this time, held a far sharper note as he insisted it was not Alfonso they had been speaking of. The fashion in which Sebastian's lips pressed near firmly together was hardly missed. That gesture, though subtle, so easily displayed his lovers own distress once more. Dorian's own resolve so readily seeming to wobble in its wake. Heavens but how he hated to upset Sebastian in any sense! That desire to take away but even the smallest hint of his lovers discomfort was near overwhelming and yet....how that very image of Sebastian so leaving him for Isabella continued to play within his mind. An audible breath left the vampire as Sebastian abruptly rose from his knees and onto his feet, his husband wandering several steps away from him then. Dorian, for one moment, was inclined to believe Sebastian intended to walk away entirely. The Monarch's own figure shifted, Dorian moving to rise from that seated position and onto his own feet and yet, for now at least, he so reamined where he stood. A near curious look found his gaze as Sebastian seemed to examine that hole in the wall as if it required his diligent attention. Neither of them, it seemed, were terribly good at such conversations as this. Their entire lives, after all, had been near dedicated to the strict avoidance of disagreeable conversation and yet how terribly impossible it was to allow such a topic to fall to the wayside! Not after what they had seen tonight.

How very much he would have liked Sebastian to simply assuage those worries, somehow. To retire to bed and nestle agianst him companions side as they often did and allow that evening to pass as if it had never existed. Dorian, once more, so inclined to consider how desperately he hated to see even the vaguest hint of distress upon his lover and yet Sebastian continued to persist in his efforts to keep that truth from him. Dorian only became more and more distressed in turn. That sudden exasperation within his husband's tone only continued to grate agianst the hurt Dorian strove to hide. Sebastian insisted that Isabella was dead, gone and that her death- and how it occurred- meant nothing. The Monarch, this time, hardly inclined to silence. Those words forming at his lips quite before he could stop them.

"If she is dead and gone and it does not matter then why on earth did you chase after her and leave me behind!?"

And there it was. How readily his own exasperation found his voice then. Dorian's arms moved to fold over his chest in a gesture strikingly reminiscent of Matteo and Tetradore in turn. That very act so affording him that distinct look of seriousness and yet too- that gesture was near...protective. As if his arms might shield him from answers he was hardly assured he desired. Dorian, in that moment, was nothing short of steadfast. Any hint of meekness seeming to have all but fled as the Monarch seemed to dance upon the very edge of that demeanor that he so often used as King. His tone reminiscent of such. How desperately he did not want to fight with Sebastian and yet....how readily that fight seemed to come.

"You told me your wife died of illness and yet she is covered in blood. You told me it was your fault but you refuse to say why. I try to talk to you and you won't hear of it. Surely you must understand why this confuses me? Why it worries me? I beg of you Sebastian, do not make me demand these answers from you. I do not want to distress you but after tonight you must surely understand why I am asking you these things. Do you really mean to refuse to answer me?"

Dorian Aragona