Within this new found kingdom in which he had so unwillingly found himself there was, decidedly, a rather vast number of things the man was not used to in any sense of the word. The cutlery, for a start, appeared to be made of paper, Dorian eyeing it with no small measure of suspicion. Either it was merely a display of her wretchedly poor economic status, else paper plates were in fact the norm within this Kingdom. Why paper would be wasted to eat off though he hardly knows, his attention drawn from it only by the woman once more, his sword within her hands as she moves to correct him. Another thing the King is not entirely used too. Correction came from his Father his tutors and on occasion his Mother. All of which had been dead several hundred years and as such Dorian had been afforded free reign in this time. Correction from a woman, especially one whom he still believes he outranks is utterly unheard of- both eyes lifting upward in surprise before he scowls sharply towards her.

"Given you are holding it incorrectly I am entirely assured you do not know how to use it and thus whether you chose to have it or not renders it and you with it- rather useless."

One eye lifts ever so slightly upward, as if daring the woman to disagree with him, her tone a displeasing thing and yet he is grateful to her, for tonight at least. For that he will allow her to play her silly game of pretending to take his sword from him Women, he thinks, have not changed much in 600 years. Besides, the pizza he has been presented with is of more amusement to him now, her chuckle at his attempts to pick it up ignored for the moment. Her encouragement, in the least, sees him at last place his teeth upon it. He enjoys the warmth of it, the taste, even despite his body having never truly had any craving for food, nor any real need for it. He had been used to it, once, joining his family for all their meals and yet in the wake of their deaths he had simply....forgotten to partake of it more often then not. This however, is pleasing to him, much as Samantha's assurance that this delicacy was, indeed, invented in his own Naples- lips pulling into a grin. He would have to find the inventor of such a dish and reward them for it. Samantha moves to place her paper plate within the kitchen, Dorian briefly eyeing his own once more. If the dish was eaten without cutlery what purpose the plate even held escaped him, the man content to help himself to another slice all the same as his companion made some effort to explain the sleeping situation.

His stormy grey eyes move to follow her towards the couch that she seemed to believe became a bed, before drifting to the pile of blankets on the floor with the suggestion that he was to sleep on them. On the floor?! He had never spent a night on the floor as long as he had been alive and he hardly intended to start now. The floor was for servants and dogs and yet even his favoured hound had been permitted to sleep on the foot of his bed, the shock in his face surely clear, oblivious to her own insecurity before she mentioned the couch-bed once more.

"That would be inappropriate."

He responds simply, after all, they were not in any way involved. She had already admitted to possessing some sort of suitor let alone his assurance that a bed was to be shared either by man and wife or those engaged in more pleasurable activities, neither of which apply to the given moment. Yet, he was exhausted, almost beyond measure, tiredness tugging at him. He did not need sleep- not in the way a mortal being did and yet mortal or otherwise he was tired. A sigh of sorts pulls itself at last from his lips, gaze flicking from the couch to the woman and back again.

"I will share with you then, for one night."

Even he is willing enough, for one night, to simply allow the worries of tomorrow to be considered then, watching with some measure of awe as the couch truly did fold flat. It was hardly big, nor grand, nor even very comfortable looking and yet even Dorian is willing to admit some battles are better fought in the morning. He moves, at last, to join the woman, momentarily considering as to what exactly he was supposed to wear to bed before simply deciding the clothing she had afforded him would have to do. It had been a long day, far longer then he cared it to be, Dorian at last moving to join the woman- laying himself down beside her. This was...not at all what he was used to and yet it was, mercifully, better than any bed he had held the past few nights in the grasp of the bandits. Better too, then the floor. He would, in time, find some way to repay the woman. Though for tonight his own exhaustion tugs at him, Dorian content to position himself upon the very end of the bed, affording as much space between them as he can, even if only for her own comfort. After all- it was only right.

"Goodnight, Samantha."