There is, Dorian thinks, a decided amount of noise coming from Samantha's room. In fact, there was rather a lot of noise coming from the house in general, the fae having been content to ignore it thus far if only due to his own interest within his books. Dorian was, when focused, notoriously difficult to distract and as such he had failed to notice the presence of anyone unusual within the place he now called home. He reaches easily to pluck the bookmark from his dresser, placing it neatly within the Italian history book he had nearly reached half way within and yet had still barely progressed beyond the middle ages, easily rolling from his bed and onto his feet. He was used to Samantha coming and going at unusual hours and yet he is distinctly sure, now focused, that he can hear two sets of voices. It is curiosity the brings him to his companions door, knuckles raping against it- waiting, as manner dictated one must wait when entering a ladies bedchamber, for Samantha to permit him- before he moved to open the door. His slender, toned form paused within the doorway itself as the silvery hue of his eyes move from Samantha to the pale-haired woman with her, features frowning ever so slightly before his gaze returned to his Fae companion.

"Ah, you must forgive me, I was unaware you entertained a guest I-"

His words halt almost abruptly, gaze cutting sharply back to the other woman now. A realization of sorts seeming to settle upon him as his gaze lingers now upon her slender, feminine form- narrowing ever so slightly. She was, he is assured, a witch. He can very near feel it upon her- one so aged as himself having long ago become capable of detecting other species with ease. This particular species however he was, perhaps, far more inclined to detect than any other. He disliked witches. He is wary of them, if nothing else, so much of his own suffering due to these hateful creatures and indeed for all his gallantry and enforced manner the man still retains something of a grudge perhaps- for the creatures responsible for so much of his own misery. Five hundred years, after all, is a decidedly long time to dwell upon his disdain and forced imprisonment. Much of his story unknown by even Samantha. After all, Dorian was loath to talk of it and yet, manners, in every sense of the word remained entirely ingrained within the man. King or otherwise he remained within the presence of a guest of Samantha and by that notion he is obligated to afford her some level of etiquette. His head dips, if only ever so slightly, the bare minimum required of him in such a moment as this, the royal equivalent to acknowledging her existence and little else. It is a decidedly unusual behaviour for Dorian and yet until he is assured she does not plan to curse him as had been done once before his behaviour is perhaps determined to remain almost cold.

"We are Dorian Aragona. It is a....pleasure."

He offers no more, if she was well studied in history she would know enough of his last name to know entirely who he was with no need of explanation, if she did not then he saw no need to inform her of it here and now in the least. His attention returns now to Samantha, though he remains within her doorway still. He will, in time, have to inquire as to why it was so Samantha seemed capable of inviting any being she chose to their house whereas his was evidently forbidden from seeing his own companions if only because Samantha seemed to dislike the idea of vampires. Her orders had so far failed to stop him, the semi-healed yet no less visible bite marks upon his neck and wrist surely proof of that and yet still the notion of it remains. Was this witch truly any safer then his vampire companion? A thought for later perhaps. For now, at least, he was at least somewhat willing to allow the witch a....chance to at least prove she had no desire to curse him. A momentary look of intrigue traces his eternally youthful features, all such matters briefly forgotten.

"Samantha, why is it so warm in here?"

Dorian Aragona