Her mention of a cell phone is lost upon the dishevelled fae, Dorian seeing no need to enquire about it further. The man having learned that rather a number of things in the modern world were better off left outside of his knowledge. Dorian perhaps one of the few beings in existence whom held very little desire to modernise more than he had too. He is notably more relaxed as she moves to relinquish him from her hold, the man assured that this century seemed to permit far more touching then was necessary and yet despite his relative antiquity he held some notion that for the moment, at least, the girl seemed to need that touch. Women always were emotional creatures- though the thought itself inspired some level of fondness in the man all the same. He felt of Sam as he had felt, perhaps, for his sisters- so many years ago and before their deaths. It is the woman's inquiry as to the marks upon neck that seem to shift the flow of the conversation, the woman content to demand a response from him when he himself felt more inclined to deny her such a request- if only for his own lack of knowledge on the decorum of the situation as a whole. Nightly escapades were private affairs and yet her demand for an answer saw the man attempt to orchestrate one all the same, his words halted briefly by his surprise at her level of distress all the same.

The affection with which she affords her own response is...surprising, the Fae King feeling both eyes lift in momentary bemusement at her declaration before a smile settles upon his handsome features. He could not, in all his years of life, ever recall having held a female best friend. His brothers had been his first friends, before politics and the purity of blood became a motivator for their apparent dislike of him and a need to impress their shared father. He had been closer to his sisters, at least to an extent, though female best friends were simply not the way things were done. The sons of other lords and kings were in short supply or lived to far away, the majority of his male friends- at least in his youth, having been his hunting companions. The situation with which he is presented now an entirely new level of social uniqueness and yet one he is not opposed to, her head lowering as she mutters such words, as if she should be almost ashamed to admit them. It takes barely a moment for the still shirtless fae to cross the room, one finger sliding gently beneath her chin to tilt it upward.

"One should not be ashamed of any emotions, especially those born of more pure things. I have never been afford a best friend, not truly, I shall be glad to take up this position."

Another smile lingers almost playful upon his lips before he turns from her once more to stride back to his wardrobe- if only to avoid the look of.....horror that seemed to linger on her lips at further talk of his night. He hardly cared for her opinion of it, in truth, Dorian assured the woman could think anything she liked of it and it would still fail to taint the magnificence of the evening to his mind. Yet he attempts to spare her the detail all the same, his words classically chaste and carefully placed to afford any mention of exactly what had occurred and yet the implication was all the same. One the fae queen had readily picked up upon. He reaches at last for another shirt, sliding it on with ease, beginning to do up the buttons as he turns to face the girl once more. Idiot is a word far to modern for his understanding, though the tone of it implies an insult all the same, one he rewards with a frown before she continues.

"Samantha, if you are attempting to convey a point- you convey it poorly. You spoke to me of these other Fae whom I must avoid and these bandits whom I need be wary of. You afforded me no such instruction as to vampires."

Vampires were one of the few species the woman had not attempted to warn him off, the man finishing the final button on his shirt, arms folding across his chest now that he was clothed once more. Her assurance of his stupidity is met with little more than an offhanded shrug, much of Dorian still very, very used to getting his own way.

"We are immortal are we not? I suspect he cannot kill me even if he were to drink all my blood. I would perhaps be rendered unconscious for a period of time. I've not considered it- though death from that, in the least, seems incomprehensible for a being not mortal."

He is given to consider such things on occasion, the Fae man seeming to momentarily forget their argument in the wake of the consideration of the actual possibility of his death in such a fashion. Dorian assured he had never been in danger of it all the same.

"He would not have killed me."

There is an assurance to his voice all the same, one Samantha will surely take no pleasure in, though Dorian has perhaps already considered that this is not a battle he will win, the man content enough to dismiss it for now as Samantha continues to talk. Her attempt to forbid him outside after dark however sees a huff of sorts drawn from his lips.

"Are you placing me under house arrest?"

One eye lifts upward once more, his tone very near a challenge, as if seeking to test the woman's resolve in this. He had decidedly little authority in this country and yet he remains sure she cannot forbid him from leaving the castle....house.....whatever it was called. The fae woman moves to stand then, reminding him of the plans he had forgotten and yet remained content to pretend otherwise as he follows her.

"I have not forgotten our lessons for this morning. We can start this very moment. When royalty disagrees we say it with our eyes. Ah, Ah! No talking. Come now."

The smallest of chuckles rises within his throat, the man moving to lead the way downstairs and into the kitchen with the woman in tow. Dorian moves easily to lean against the kitchen counter now, gesturing for the woman to stand before him.

"Where would you rather start? Standing and talking, dining, or dancing?"