How quickly those emotions had eclipsed the vampire, in the heat of the moment. He had been all too aware of that internal fight, that incessant need to protect both of his lovers, even in spite of his wife's corporeal state. Those possessive vampiric tendencies were more than capable of overriding any and all logical thought, and in turn, Sebastian had thought little of his live lover while his dead one was dragged in to face the only singular threat he'd strove to keep the both from. As much as he detested to hear that hurt...that betrayal within his husband's sharpened voice, he could hardly argue that Dorian was wrong in any sense. He had left the fae when it had seemingly mattered most. That silence upon his lips did little to help his cause, his husband pressing all the more for the truth of the story surrounding Isabella's death, one he was ill-inclined to give. For all his determination to merely ignore his lover's beseeching, however, Sebastian simply found he could not ignore his King. After all, had he not chosen to include that little caveat within his own marriage vows? To love. To cherish. To obey.

His fingers rose to rake through his brunette locks as that tale began to fall from his lips. The story was hardly a short one, Isabella's death a product of nearly half a year of poor decisions, the majority of which he had regretted in one way or another. He had always known, in some regards, what he asked of his lovers - to share his affections, in some manner, with a great many of others. He knew well how taxing it must have been...how it must still be...that knowledge that when he left the halls of their home, he was temporarily nestled within the arms of another. He could hardly fault Isabella for her inability to stand such philandering anymore then he could fault, what he was assured was, his own husband's inevitable resentment over that very thing. It was that...compromise the two had agreed to that finally provoked the first interruption from the Italian Monarch, though those words were cut off short by Sebastian's own voice. After all...if he stopped now....he would be incapable of finishing that tale. The rest of the story, he was sure, had become near predictable - Isabella had suffered for her efforts to sustain him, that constant loss of blood resulting in her body becoming anemic, it too debilitating to the woman in ways that Sebastian still struggled to recount. He remembered that constant clawing hunger as his need for sustenance was pushed further and further away in favor of her safety...until it had all culminated within a night of good intentions and utter horror.

It was that final memory that broke through the vampire's composure, his breath almost shuddering softly in some effort to subdue those sounds of sobs he all but refused to let leave his lips. Those tears, however, traced down his porcelain cheeks all the same as his mind recounted that sweet, innocent look of relief that Isabella had given him in those final moments, as if she knew everything would be okay the moment he had stepped into the room. How wrong she had been! And how it so broke Sebastian's heart. His arms wrapped carefully around himself, the vampire struggling to hold in those very emotions that he had never quite coped with, even after all these years. A distant part of him was aware of the sounds of Dorian's feet upon the wooden floors underfoot and yet, still, he flinched at the very touch of his husband's arms. He gave into his lover's gentle embrace as Dorian pulled him into the hard planes of the Italian's chest. Those two words were nothing if not soft and yet, Sebastian merely answered them with but with a small shake of his head. His fingers gripped tightly into his own arms as he tried to steady his breath, "It's fine." He whispered back, those words decidedly British of him and yet, in that moment, it was all he could think to offer.

Sebastian struggled, admittedly, to meet his lover's gaze as Dorian's hand lifted upwards to brush those tears away. His lover's insistence that Isabella had been as much at fault for her death as Sebastian, however, prompted a small press of the Englishman's lips - this, he suspected, was a point the pair would largely disagree upon. If he had just....tried harder. If he'd been better able to control his hunger...if only. It as his husband's admittance of Isabella's emotions, however, that finally drew the weight of those navy irises, the Prince quiet as Dorian explained with absolute certainty that she did not hate him, for that...incident. A soft breath left his lips as his gaze once again turned away from his husband. "I know...I almost wish she did...she...she believed in me and I let her down when it mattered the most." Just as he too had just let his own husband down. How potently that thought filled his own mind, the vampire finding himself entirely...ashamed for the entirety of the evening, and so, Sebastian did what he did best - he deflected. "I never asked if you were okay...?"

Sebastian Ellington-Aragona

His Royal Highness, Prince of Italy