He had taken but several steps into that truly obscure room when he found his companion very near launching herself into his arms, Dorian struggling to catch her in those moments, his silver gaze hurriedly flicking from the terrible cat, to the wolf he knew well, to that girl upon the back wall and at last to his own Queen. His arms moved to wrap about her near involuntarily if only in some desperate effort to hold the poor girl up, the confusion upon his features surely palpable as he simply continues to stare for several moments. What on earth was going on he hardly knew, that feeling within himself that had so demanded he find Samantha seeming to lessen as her arms embraced him and yet confusion for the entirety of the situation afflicted him still. The words she offered him were almost fractured, as if she struggled to force them between her lips- her distress entirely clear to him and yet it took but a moment still for him to finally understand why. Aiden. The lover he had never met and yet the one she spoke off so often. To hear he had been killed this very night saw both the Monarchs silver eyes widen.

"How?!"

It was, perhaps, a wholly logical question, the words free of his lips before any sense of decorum so sought to silence them. Death, after all, was hardly knew to the Fae King. It had surrounded him since the moment of his own birth. Within the middle ages in which he had so grown the death of anyone was never truly surprising. After all, mothers died in childbirth each day, infants succumbed to sickness, accidents afflicted strong men, war ravaged the earth and any whom were fortunate enough to reach maturity were cut down by the plague in droves. Death was a part of his very existence and as such the 'why' of it was hardly questioned, Dorian so entirely a product of his time in that moment, instead asking just how it occurred. An accident, surely. A fall, or break or concussion, an illness perhaps, a wound gone bad or blood gone foul- these the very leading causes of the death of young men within his time and as such Dorian assures them to be the same now. His arms remaining around her still, the Fae man so at last understanding the reason for the gathering in this room and too, the gathering outside of it as the Leopard left to address them. Had the spotted one somehow been elected King? The ways of the Were lost upon him entirely and yet they hardly mattered. No. Only Samantha mattered. The grief of a woman a truly heartbreaking thing to see.

Ah, but how his sister had cried the day her fiancé had died from a fever that would not break! How too his own Mother had cried at the loss of an infant son and his own brother so young. For days they were capable of this grief, days and days and yet.....would he be any different were it Sebastian whom had been lost? The thought so entirely horrific it is almost as if a fist clenches within his own chest to even imagine it. He could not suffer a pain like that and perhaps this.....this he understood if only because he held his own lover so dearly. To comfort a forlorn woman is outside his immediate skill and yet he attempts it all the same, allowing his arms to remain about her, ignoring all others now as he holds her against him.

"I am sorry Samantha, I am so sorry."

It had been, within his time, the job of other women to comfort one of their own and yet even Dorian is unwilling to relinquish his hold upon her now, his gaze lifted only as that spotted cat returns, eyes drifting from he to Raven, unsure of which to address now- merely choosing to speak to both.

"I think it would be best if I took Samantha home, your household must be given its time to grieve the loss of its Lord but thank you- both for so attending to her and too you too."

He nods softly to Alexis then, allowing his fingers now to intertwine with Samantha's own, stepping back from her just so before attempting to guide her forward and towards the door.

"I am sorry to all of you for this death, Italy offers its condolences to each of you. Come now Samantha, let me take you home, there is nothing more you can do here. I know what he meant to you, I do, it is ok to cry this time, you do not need to hold it back on my account."

That last sentence is offered as little more than a whisper to the girl alone, tugging upon her hand softly and so attempting to guide her from that room. After all, sometimes even Queens cry.