She was, he is sure, a very typical woman. Very talkative and yet much of what she said was little more then a strain on his ears to hear it. It was fortunate, surely, that she was comely- as he had already informed her. She would be far more likely to attract a husband with her looks then her poorly constructed words. Perhaps she could even find a man willing to look past the manner in which she never seemed to actually finish a sentence. Most women were hardly valued for their words all the same. He is used to flustering people and yet the people whom he had surrounded himself with these past hundred years had all been trained to respond to him in a decided manner. These current people, as the girl had so informed him, seemed oblivious to his position and as such were evidently content to treat him as if he hardly mattered. He had never been fully comfortable in full dress robes and yet the next time he ventured outside (though he is sure he will never leave his castle again once he finds it) he would be assured to dress to his station. Soemthing far more royal then his white linen shirt, black riding pants, leather belt and bare feet- although the later was hardly by his own doing, the bandits having removed his shoes, though why they had pilfered them he hardly knew. The girl's mutterings have all but become background noise to him, grey gaze far more focused on the world around him and the variety of oddities he cannot even begin to fathom, nervousness clawing at his gut like the plague and yet beneath it all existed some faint glimmer of curiosity- one that is utterly forgotten as the woman besides him declares herself to be a Princess waylaid by a curse.

For a moment he merely stares near blankly at her, shock and awe seeming to alight his handsome features at this discovery. If she was as he suspected, a species such as himself, then perhaps it was possible that she too was afflicted by the same curse that had seen his own family reduced to bones and dust- himself the sole remaining heir to the once expansive Trastámara line. He is oblivious entirely too any humour that might taint her words, sarcasm, after all, was not a manner of speech he was at all familiar with- the Fae assured she speaks the truth, whom would dare lie to a King? The trust she employed within him met with a nod by way of response though his gaze narrows ever so slightly all the same. A Fae he may be, but a fool he is not, at least not entirely- lips parting to ask as to exactly which Kingdom she ruled and as to what witch had laid this curse upon her (that he has no trouble in believing, witches were vile, hateful creatures), when he found himself violently assaulted by the most hideous of noises, hands moving to shield his ears from it as he stumbled back and into a tree. Her command to shut up falls on deaf ears, a groan of dissatisfaction all he is content to offer as she attempts to explain the source of it above the wail.

"Why are these 'Police' unfriendly towards me? I have done nothing to insult them near so much as to deserve this vile wailing sound and I....Hunters? What Hunters? What interest does a Hunter have in either of us? We are not deer."

Hunters after all, have a sole profession to his understanding, that being to hunt game for his table- the man having failed to recognise these 'Hunters' as the 'Bandits' from which he had already escaped. His questions however are seemingly destined to go unanswered, the girl grasping his arm and hauling him after her well before he could offer any protest about her touching him once more- although her Princess status would perhaps make it permissible. Far more permissible then running. His desperation to get away from the sound, for once, sees him offer little complaint, Dorian content to run after her and towards the park gate, the Fae King perhaps far more capable then he appeared in regards to athleticism, keeping up easily with the girl. Where they are going he hardly knows, the outside of the park gates as entirely horrific as he remembered them, the roar of traffic quickly drowning out the wail of sirens- Dorian far more afraid of losing his companion then any fear the 'Police' or 'Hunters' had followed them, slowing down only as they rounded a corner- the wailing seeming to have ceased entirely, his chest heaving from the effort of his run and the stress of the situation at large as he pulls himself from her grip at last. Taking a moment to straighten his shirt.

"How much further is this castle of yours? Have you no horses? We cannot run anymore. We are tired and we are bleeding......again."

He simply moves to point abruptly downward to his bare and rather injured looking feet, the gravel of the road and park having grazed and cut at the soft skin of the soles of feet that have worn shoes for five hundred years. He moves to place one foot down again, flinching slightly at the sting of it- a pain far more noticeable now that he was no longer being hauled behind the girl.

"I require a physician, do you keep one at your small castle? As soon as my feet and head have been attended to there is much we must speak off, I find myself afflicted with many questions- nor have we been properly introduced."

He pauses, straightening himself up slightly.

"I am His Royal Highness Dorian Valerio Aragona, King of Naples, Sicily, Gerace, Santa Agata, Arsena, Montalto and Jerusalem and their associated kingdoms- whom might you be M'lady?"

That he has corrected her title in that moment to 'mlady' as opposed to 'peasant' is at least some indication that he has accepted she is perhaps not common born and yet his gaze lingers upon her still in expectation of some suitable title, eyes glancing briefly back the way they had come to assure himself none of these police or their companions pursue them still before he extends one hand towards her.

"I have run beside you and bled in your presence, I believe I am entitled to the Ladies name?"

One eye simply lifts upward, an almost lopsided, crooked grin adoring his features now in a manner that lightens each and every feature of his handsome face- a look almost delightfully childlike and perhaps the first genuine look he has offered her since they have met. Her change in status resulting in a near remarkable change in his own attitude- at least to some extent.