How he had hoped that Dorian might simply forget of Isabella in the wake of his mention of Alfonso. His husband's brother had clearly prompted some level of distress within the Italian Monarch, enough so that the very mention of the now deceased sibling seemed to prompt a visible shift within the King. That glance elsewhere, however, hardly lasted long, nor did those words before Dorian sought to redirect that conversation back to the one that Sebastian so diligently sought to avoid. The very sharpness to his lover's tone prompted an audible breath from his lips as the Englishman rose from his place upon the floor. In that moment, he desperately sought that physical distance from his lover, as if it alone might too put distance between himself and those answers Dorian wished to pry from his lips. The weight of his navy irises turned towards the large hole within the wall of his estate, his gaze tracing the gardens visible from his position. His mind was quick to seek some other effort to evade his lover's queries, though even Sebastian knew he was running quickly out of options. He turned, almost abruptly, to face the now standing Monarch, his own tone holding some hint of exasperation as he insisted that it hardly mattered how Isabella had died, either way, the woman was dead.

The Prince was hardly prepared for his lover's quick retort, the Englishman decidedly taken aback by Dorian's assertion. His lips parted, only to close but moments later in a distinct level of speechlessness. The navy of his gaze turned from his lover, brushing over the splinters that littered the floor. He had...hadn't he? In those moments of peril, he had chased after the fleeting fabric of Isabella's dress, he had chased after that chance with her. Dorian had been safe, if he had stayed where the Englishman had left him, the defense so quickly rising to the forefront of his thoughts, even if he failed to utter it. After all, Dorian could hardly understand the importance of...seeing her again. His own guilt demanding he made some effort to....fix things between himself and his deceased wife, even if such was clearly impossible and clearly at the risk of upsetting his present relationship. He'd hardly meant anything by it, of course, that very realization that Dorian had felt second to his Isabella prompted his hand to rise, his fingers shifting through his caramel locks. Sebastian turned wordlessly from his husband again, the vampire entirely unaware of the way Dorian's arms had crossed pointedly over his chest.

That shift within his lover, from the gentle fae he loved to the King of Italy, was subtle. Sebastian, however, innately knew that tone. That hint of authority was one he had, in the past, found entirely arousing and yet, now, the Incubus within him had all but retreated. It was that assertiveness that promised this topic would not simply go away, despite he desires for such. That accusation upon his lover's tongue prompted him to flinch, even if his gaze hardly rose from the floor, the vampire decidedly...submissive when so faced with his King. He remained silent in the wake of Dorian's insistence, those thoughts tumbling chaotically through his usually calm mind. Truly, Isabella's death had little to do with his husband, though did he not owe Dorian those answers he sought? Did Dorian not owe him some level of privacy within the life he'd once led? How conflicting his very attempts were to find some argument to his husband's request. It was the commanding sound of his name upon his Monarch's lips that finally shattered any efforts to further avoid the fae's requests.His tongue flicked over his bottom lip a final time, the vampire swallowing as his gaze lifted back towards the garden, the Englishman staunchly refusing to face his husband as those words left his lips.

"We used to argue...a lot...about my feeding habits." He started with a soft exhale, "Isabella was..." Jealous? Territorial? Uninclined to share her husband? Were those not her rights as his wife? He paused, his brows furrowing as he tried to find those words to properly explain her feelings. "She...hated being able to smell them on me when I came home...the other women. I tried to keep it from her but she...she was attentive." The vampire paused again, those next words something he had long since viewed as an inevitable end to any relationship he might try to foster, his very certainty of it prompting it to be distinctly...hard to speak to his own husband. "She...was going to leave me..because of it." Another pause. "So I promised her I'd stop. She wanted to be the only one I fed from and...for the first month that was...fine. It had been great but..." His head shook ever so slightly, one hand reaching up to settle on his side, "She started feeling tired all the time and...dizzy and just...weak. I tried feeding less but...then I was just taking more when I was feeding and it just...God it got worse." He sighed, his gaze fluttering towards the floor as he tried to swallow those emotions, the vampire starting again after a moment. "Her body started having issues clotting without my help...so I pushed back my feedings even further. I was eating once a month....a month and a half? She was always worried about me and I just..." Sebastian fell silent, his free hand raising to his lips. The dark hue of his gaze swept unseeingly over the damage to those gardens, his thoughts entirely focused upon that night that Dorian desired to know of the most.

"I remember...waking up to the scent of blood. There were...droplets at the foot of our bed...they went to the hallway outside." The depthless color of his irises had become glassy as Sebastian re-lived that memory he hated to revisit most of all. "There had been blood on the wallpaper down the stairs..." The vampire left out those minute details - from the way she had so purposefully spread it in a visible path for him to follow, much less the way he had tried to lick it from the wallpaper. "I....I found her in the kitchen. She had cut her wrist...trying to make sure I fed and...she just looked so relieved I was there and I..." His eyelashes fluttered over those navy eyes, the first of those tears tracing a trail down his cheek, the vampire paused, if only to ensure his voice didn't crack before he continued, "I was just...so hungry and...I...I couldn't stop." His hand fell from his lips, instead clutching tightly at his opposite arm as if the vampire could simply hold himself together, if he could just hold in those memories, those tears would stop. He left that story there, the man certain Dorian could piece together the end. If only he had been able to withstand that hunger, if only he'd been able to fight for that control, if he'd been better able to hide those feedings he'd enjoyed outside of his marriage, if only he had turned her. If only he had done a thousand different things, Isabella would still be alive.

Sebastian Ellington-Aragona

His Royal Highness, Prince of Italy