It was perhaps, one of the few times in which the man was not nestled upon his bed and lost within the pages of his book. Dorian having, quite uncharacteristically, fallen asleep, the Fae sprawled in every direction atop his bed. The sudden sound at his door manages to rouse the man, if only slightly, Dorian blinking lazily before rolling back over, entirely content to return to his sleep before Samantha's voice seemed to find its way into his thoughts. His companion had been gone for much of the day and yet Dorian no longer found such things troubled him, in truth. He had become used to her desire to go on a nightly basis to the place she called 'work' and indeed he had become equally accustomed, though not approving, of the nights she spent with her male suitor. She always returned and as such Dorian had become used to this routine, although why she sought to rouse him here and now he hardly new. He moved, at last, to seat himself upright, one hand running easily though the brunette locks of his hair, so many of the strands tainted with gold from his time spent reacquainting himself with the sun. His free hand moves to grasp the flower from Sebastian resting upon his bedside table, sliding it neatly into his drawer.

Samantha had placed him under house arrest for his apparently reckless actions with the vampire and yet she had hardly declared that Dorian couldn't not invite him here instead. A loophole to her decree perhaps and yet one Dorian has no desire to actually argue now. He is hardly ashamed in any sense of the word, more so, it is simply not a conversation he desires to engage her within this very moment. Women had changed little in 500 years- they still enjoyed informing him of the error of his life decisions. Once he is assured that much of the evidence of his night is concealed and that he is entirely ready to receive the woman the Fae simply moves to open the door, allowing a simper to trace his features by way of greeting. This time, he hardly seeks to correct her improper use of his name, the woman positively hopeless in remembering nearly any lessons in relation to languages and truly Dorian has come to except, to an extent, that he is perhaps eternally cursed to being referred to as Dori. Despite the political incorrectness and significantly improper status such a thing represented. Samantha was incorrigible in that regard.

"Do you require my presence?"

He lingers within his own doorway, curious as to why he was being summoned at all, half expecting, perhaps, that Samantha was going to attempt to feed him again. A noise from downstairs however momentarily distracts the man, his eternally youthful features frowning as he moves to step past Samantha to peer down and over the landing into the living room below. Ah, it would seem his companion had brought home a guest, surprise momentarily touching his features, Samantha rarely ever bringing any others into their home, his curiosity assured as he turns back towards her now. It is perhaps the first of his mistakes, Dorian aware perhaps a moment too late that such a motion rather clearly displayed the bite wounds upon his neck. The last time he had been bitten the mark had existed quite low, easily covered by his shirt, noticed by Samantha purely by luck alone. These marks...were far higher, concealing them entirely impossible, Dorian truly having come to consider Sebastian had done such a thing entirely on purpose though he hardly dwells upon it now- cutting Samantha's words off hurriedly.

"Ah ah! We have guests."

It would be decidedly poor taste, surely, for her to attempt to display her displeasure at him in front of company. Dorian entirely content to be cunning in this moment, knowing well Samantha would be near forced to keep her opinions at bay for at least the duration of the visit of her own guest. He moves to step past her now and descend the stairs in a rather more hurried fashion then normal lest the woman grasp him by his ear and drag him back into his room. His usual decorum however returns well before he steps down into the living room, arms folded neatly behind his back as he moves with that same, fluid grace, which accentuates each of his actions. It was still entirely unusual to the man to have no one announce his presence and yet he supposed he was capable of that himself. The silver of his gaze falls upon the woman seated upon the couch, both eyes widening slightly at her state of undress- the man hurriedly moving to avert his gaze from her for the sake of modesty. Maybe Samantha did believe this sort of dress was common for women these days and yet truly Dorian is entirely assured it is far too much. It is impolite of him, surely, to look upon her in such a state! Protocol however, surely dictated he actually greet her.

His gaze returns to her own, the man stepping easily towards her. She was quite a comely woman, even despite her...state of being, Dorian attempting to ignore such a thing with the manner of appropriateness the King had learned to wield over several hundred years of life. His hand extends briefly, taking Ivy's own within his grasp before bringing it smoothly upward to brush his lips gently across the back of it in an age-old gesture as his gaze meets her own at last.

"We are Dorian Aragona, King of Naples, we are pleased to meet you despite your state of undress. Whom might we ask are you?"

He can be very near charming when he tries.

Dorian Aragona