For a moment longer the silver gaze of the ancient King remains upon his Fae companion, Samantha seeming almost....distressed and yet it would be decidedly improper to address her about such a matter in the company of guests. Dorian, for now, content to allow her shaken demeanour to pass. Samantha had been out of sorts of late, even Dorian not oblivious to it, her nature seeming all the more delicate ever since the evening he had found her sobbing upon the floor in a state decidedly ungraceful for a woman. Even despite such a thing however, she still possessed decidedly more grace then that witch. It was a shame, truly, the white haired woman so seemed fit to glare at him- she was quite an attractive creature- her appearance hardly lost upon him and yet beneath her scowl it was distinctly hard to tell. Even so, he permits Samantha to make the introduction, his own nod of greeting following thereafter. Vhalla. An unusual name and yet the majority of modern names seemed unusual to the man, her moniker committed to memory though the stiffness to his form and voice remains. Until he is assured of this woman's intentions he is determined to remain wary of her. Witches were volatile creatures in his experiences and it would pay to be cautious of them. The heat in the room however, seems determined to go unexplained, his slate-coloured gaze lifting slightly in response to Samantha's words.

"It would seem so. Though I must ask what it is your guest desires to crash?"

An evident look of concern momentarily crosses his own eternally youthful features, the man having failed to understand Samantha's words, believing, on some level, that Vhalla may attempt to destroy something within their home before his gaze returns to the white haired women in question. Her reference to his being 'the strange man' is met with little more than a passing glance. So many years spent within the royal courts assuring that there were decidedly few phrases the witch was capable of uttering that would see his demeanour slip from that carefully placed look of controlled indifference. To appear polite, in any situation, was a skill he had long since mastered after all. Perhaps the witch was merely of poor breeding, else she was, as so many modern women- simply unaware of proper etiquette when in the presence of royalty. His name it would seem- has stirred something of a memory within her, her knowledge of history evidently more impressive then most and indeed for a moment the Fae finds himself almost curious of her once more. Her utterance of his age merely seeing a single eye lift upward.

"Thank you. Time does indeed treat me well."

He offers politely, deliberately so- quite purposefully undercutting her own abrupt manner, words slightly cool all the same as he continues to regard her. The faintest of simpers assuring the man knew entirely of this game she played. He is merely content to continue to blockade her own shrew-like temperament with a forced pleasantness of his own. She would have to do far better then that if she sought to get a rise from him. How long this woman would be gracing their home remained to be seen and yet, from first appearances at least, it hardly appeared he would need his sword this evening. If Samantha was determined to entertain her then so be it. Decorum required he at least offer some level of politeness to guests.

"You are the second being I have seen since being within this city that possesses hair of that colour. Are you of relation to this Frost?"

Dorian Aragona