Frankly he is not entirely assured he likes the idea of the shoes she promises him, his gaze having already drifted to a pair of heels in the far corner of the room, the woman's idea of footwear seeming decidedly...dangerous to his mind and yet her explanation of a shower seems equally as mortifying. Any ideas of either shoes or showers however exist only so long as it takes him to focus upon the tea she has placed before him. That tea, in this kingdom, is designed as some sort of 'treat' merely sees his gaze return to her own with some measure of confusion. The idea that certain drinks are reserved for 'bad days' is a novelty to the man, Dorian merely watching as she moves to take his mug, placing the sugar in it before stirring and passing it back with the warning it is sure to be hot.

"Dorian."

He corrects her simply. Assured that 'Dori' is an assuredly improper name to call anyone, let alone a King, the man moving to lift his mug to his lips, tasting the liquid with no small amount of hesitation, finding it both bitter and sweet all at once- though lacking the aroma of lemon or orange as tea so often did back within his home. It was not, however, as unpleasant as he had anticipated, the sweetness decidedly pleasurable all the same, both eyes lifting in evident surprise before he simply continues to drink it- realising only now how truly hungry and thirsty he was. How many days had it been since he had last eaten anything decent? The Hunter's had not been overly concerned with his need for food, despite him informing them more than once, this 'Bad Day Tea' the most pleasurable taste he has had in over a week. Even despite its sweetness.

"It is not displeasing."

He says at last, head nodded in satisfaction at that taste before making some attempt to explain his story to the girl before him. It is vague, even to him, the man so wholly confused by his own arrival here that attempting to explain it to another surely makes it no less clear, the Fae frowning as he speaks, one hand running through the length of dark hair in frustration. Could he truly be so far from home that no one knew him? That no one even understood his name? How far could he possibly have travelled? Samantha moving to stand momentarily distracts the man from his own thoughts, watching as she rummages within some sort of folded paper box before producing a book- placing it before him as he stares in wonder at the coloured pages. One hand moves automatically to reach for it, fingers brushing across the smooth, glossy pages in some sort of wonder. Such small, neat writing! How had they written this? How had they coloured these pages with such finesse! Whomever had penned this book was a veritable master. The calligraphy was lacking and yet the manner of print was decidedly unique in itself. That it had been printed with a machine remains entirely outside his knowledge. Slate grey eyes move at last to rest on the picture she shows him, pointing to Italy before dragging her fingers across the picture to another part of what she claims to be the world.

"I am in another country?!"

His shock is surely palpable, eyes flicking from Italy to where her finger points and back again, desperately attempting to understand the information before him.

"This....this map is incorrect, the world does not look like this.....these lands are wrong and.....why is it round?"

That he does not recognise most of the countries let alone possess any knowledge that the world, is, in fact, not flat- is evidently clear, alarm registering in every line of his form. That he is perhaps far older then even Samantha has anticipated remains to be seen, the man abruptly pushing the book away from himself.

"We do not wish to look at it any longer."

Her attempt to speak of powers is lost upon him, to an extent. His mind is simply....lost within the thoughts that swirl around it, a potent mix of confusion and grief seeming to roll within. He is so far from home, from everything he knows- a hand suddenly upon his arm seeing his stormy grey gaze meet Samantha's own once more- an almost painfully desperate look of vulnerability lingering there a moment before he hurriedly moves to sweep it away. As he had always been taught to do. His Father had always thought him far too soft, far to gentle, perhaps he had been right, Dorian pushing the thoughts away for now. He hardly felt safe, despite her assurance, his gaze moving to drift about the single tiny room she seemed to maintain ownership of- so very different to anything he was used to. A room they would now share, or so it seemed- even despite his assurance that men and women did not share quarters unless they were intimately involved.

"Thank you- I owe you debt."

One he would, one day, see repaid- though for now the enormity of his situation was far more pressing. Dorian sipped at his tea almost by reflex once more, barely tasting it this time, the man silent for several more moments before seeming to, finally, master control of himself once more. It was improper for a man to be so.....weak, Dorian forcibly attempting to squash his emotions once more.

"I request you show me your manner of bathing then, I am decidedly not clean. Where is this shower? Perhaps over dinner we might talk of your friends and of powers. It has been a long time since I have met another of my kind- and no I will not touch the fire stove without you."

It is perhaps his first true attempt at....genuine friendliness. Gaze narrowing upon the stove all the same.