In all truth, the faerie queen was hardly surprised when he seemed to understand immediately what she had meant by the debutante ball. She could feel his delight, his pleasure, at simply knowing what she had meant. It was such a small thing, but the delight he took in it was enough to see the girl smile, nodding in turn to his words. "Yes, a coming of age ball. In America, they're usually called debutante balls. They're not for uh... telling people that you're open for marriage anymore. It's more of a status thing. It tells people that you're rich enough to be able to afford it. That you're important enough. It's for those who are the highest in society. You usually pick an escort that has a similar status as you to kind of... show off?" She waved a hand dismissively, rolling her eyes. "The lessons taught me to stand though. But I wasn't very good at it. I was... sixteen, I think?" The small dig of why she wasn't married saw the girl laugh, shaking her head simply. "Ah, but I have a suitor, at least. My Were King. I don't see you having a wife, Dori." She reached out, patting him on the top of his head for a moment along with her tease before she ruffled his hair. "And other than your... vampire lover..." she motioned to the bite marks on his neck. "I have yet to see you even try."

The mention of his family, however, seems to make any humor fade away, the subtle sadness that he seemed to display enough to cause her to frown. "History books don't tell the whole story, I'm afraid," She mused, running a hand through her blonde hair simply. "As for being too gentle, I've found that I prefer gentleness to cruelty." She reached out, placing a hand on top of his arm in a gesture of reassurance. "You are one of the best men I've ever met. Don't let anyone ever tell you differently again." It was a simple encouragement, one met with his hands straightening her shoulders before once again, she was sent on her way to walk around the room. It was easier now, the girl looking forward instead of down at her feet. It was only when she was praised â€" or at least she thought it was praise â€" in the French lyrics did she offer him a smile. "I walk just fine, thank you." She stopped right in front of him, leaning forward to plant a gentle kiss on his cheek, assuring him that she found no harm in his teasing. She liked his teasing, honestly. Though she'd never admit it to him, she adored the way he toyed with her, how he showed his affection for her by teasing her. His words had a smile plastered on her lips, or at least they did until he mentioned dancing.

Dancing was one thing that Samantha was completely unable to do, and one of the many reasons why she had stopped going to lessons for a debutante ball. She had two left feet, as her instructors always told her. It was still true now. She could manage the simple swaying that would pass in dance clubs â€" not that she frequented those establishments. But anything more elaborate caused the girl to trip over herself. That was why she'd almost always been assigned to waitressing instead of dancing at the burlesque, or why mending the clothes or babysitting had been her tasks. Dancing was simply not an activity that came easily to her, and she was sure she was in for more criticizing from Dorian, and not necessarily the good kind. She'd seen the kind of tantrums he could throw when things didn't quite go his way â€" a result of hundreds of years from being king â€" and she was sure that this would likely result in another one.

"I can't dance, Dorian," The faerie girl muttered, watching him cross the room to the radio. The girl winced, bracing herself for his yelling if any of the alternative music she preferred came out of the station. But the screaming did not come, nor did the alternative music that she liked. Instead the classical music that played caused the girl to tilt her head. "I hadn't realized that you'd figured out how to use the radio. I'm proud of you." She reached a hand up though, still nervous, putting her hand near her mouth before his gaze caused her to drop her hand entirely, choosing to nibble on her lip instead.

"I really, truly cannot dance," The woman said quietly, tugging on her hair as she stood before him, positively squirming under his gaze. "I always stepped on my partners' feet during lessons, and I..." She trailed off at his question, biting her lip. "I know a few routines for the burlesque, and I can do some modern dancing I guess. I took a year of ballet, but again, I'm terrible at it. And I can..." She paused, thinking, before she ultimately shrugged. "I really, genuinely think that this is a bad idea... I... I... I can be a queen that doesn't dance. I'll just sit regally on my throne and judge everyone?" Trying to protest would be futile, she was sure, but it didn't stop her from trying.