Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Chapter 1: Index

Chapter 2: "Let them watch"
Aro X Alara 

Chapter 3: "Hug? Absolutely Not"
Aro x Alara

Chapter 4: Threads of Desire
Marcus x Alara 

Chapter 5: “You’re so drunk”
Volturi Kings x Alara

Chapter 6: Missing
Volturi Kings x Alara

Chapter 7: An Unexpected Gift
Caius x Alara

Chapter 8: Pompeii Shenanigans
Aro x Alara

Chapter 9: Humanity
Volturi Kings x Alara

Chapter 10: Pages Over Prey
Aro x Alara

Chapter 11: Beneath me, Motherfucker
Caius x Alara

Chapter Text

Warnings: None

The dimly lit Volturi throne room felt colder than usual. The walls, dark and towering, seemed to close in as tension crackled in the air. Aro sat upon his throne, the very image of elegance and power, his hand resting on the arm of the chair as though the world itself rested within his grasp. His burgundy eyes, however, were aflame as they bore into Alara, standing defiantly at the center of the room.

"You presume too much, Alara," Aro’s voice was silken, but undercut with steel. "You think your attachment to us—to me—grants you immunity. A false notion."

Alara’s eyes flashed, her hands clenched into fists at her sides. She had never feared Aro, not truly, but she was aware that in this moment, the eyes of the entire Volturi coven were upon them. Marcus, Caius, the guards—they were all watching, waiting for her to falter.

"I presume nothing, Aro," she spat, her voice filled with a mix of anger and hurt. "I earned my place here. Or do you forget how many times I’ve stood by your side when others would have abandoned you?"

Aro’s lips curved into a mocking smile. "Ah, yes. Your loyalty. Or is it pride? That burning desire to prove yourself worthy." He rose from his throne, descending the steps with graceful, almost predatory strides as he drew near. "But you forget, my dear, that this is my kingdom. And I do not tolerate disobedience."

Alara stood her ground, though her chest tightened with each word. "I have never disobeyed you, Aro. But I won’t stand by while you make decisions that will destroy everything we’ve built."

"Destroy?" His voice was a deadly whisper as he came to stand before her. "You think I will destroy what I have created?" He tilted his head, studying her, his eyes narrowing. "Do not confuse your desires with what is best for the Volturi."

"I’m not confused," Alara shot back, her voice breaking slightly. Her emotions—normally so tightly controlled—were fraying at the edges. She felt raw, exposed, knowing everyone around them was silently witnessing this fight. "But you’ve changed. You’re not the same Aro I knew. Not the one I…" She swallowed the words before they could escape.

Aro’s eyes softened, just for a moment. A brief flicker of something other than anger passed across his face, but it was gone as quickly as it came. He leaned in closer, his voice barely above a whisper, "People are watching."

Alara's breath hitched at the closeness of him, her pulse thrumming in her ears. His proximity was dangerous—not because he might hurt her, but because she feared she might break. She turned her head, her voice trembling as she spoke. "I don’t care. Let them watch."

Aro’s lips twitched into a half-smile, but there was something vulnerable beneath it now, something that Alara couldn’t quite place. "You should care, my dear Alara. Perception is power. And you’ve just revealed far too much."

She exhaled sharply, her frustration spilling over. "I’m tired of the games, Aro. Of pretending that I don’t feel anything when all I’ve ever done is try to protect you. To stand beside you."

"And yet," Aro murmured, stepping even closer, his hand lifting to brush a stray lock of her dark hair behind her ear. His touch was cold, but familiar, like the bite of a winter wind that she had grown accustomed to. "You defy me in front of my brothers and sisters. In front of our coven. What am I to make of that?"

Alara’s eyes flickered to the other Volturi members, all of whom were watching intently. Caius’s expression was cold, indifferent. Marcus, though, seemed almost sympathetic, as if he understood the weight of what was unspoken between them.

"I’m not defying you," she whispered, her voice cracking under the weight of her emotions. "I’m fighting for you."

Aro’s expression shifted then, the hard lines of his face softening as the truth of her words seemed to seep into him. He reached out, his cold fingers gently cupping her chin, tilting her face up so that their eyes met. For the first time since the argument began, his voice was quiet, almost tender.

"And that," he said softly, "is why you are the only one I trust the most."

Alara blinked, the anger and frustration that had fueled her moments ago suddenly fading, leaving only the raw ache of her feelings for him. "Then why push me away?"

Aro’s gaze flickered, his thumb brushing gently across her cheek. His voice was still soft, but laced with something almost fragile, as though admitting it would shatter something inside him. "Because I cannot afford to love you, Alara. Not when so many are watching."

Her breath caught in her throat, the admission sending a jolt through her. She hadn’t expected him to say it, not out loud. The weight of his confession hung in the air between them, thick and heavy.

"And I," Alara whispered, her voice trembling, "cannot afford to lose you."

The room seemed to disappear then—the cold stone walls, the watching eyes of the Volturi. It was just the two of them, standing at the precipice of something neither of them had dared to speak of until now. Aro’s hand slid from her chin to her hand, his cold fingers intertwining with hers.

"Then let them watch," he murmured, his lips curving into the softest of smiles. "For in you, Alara, I have found something even I did not anticipate."

Alara’s heart pounded in her chest, but it was no longer from anger. The warmth in his words, the gentle squeeze of his hand in hers, it was enough to thaw the ice that had been building between them.

The silence in the room was thick, but neither of them cared. Let them watch indeed. They had already seen more than they ever would have expected from the once-unbreakable Aro. But now, as he gently brought Alara’s hand to his lips in a rare, tender gesture, it was clear to everyone that something had irrevocably shifted.

The power in the room belonged not to the Volturi, but to the bond between Aro and Alara.

Chapter Text

Warnings: None

The marble floors of the Volturi throne room echoed with every sharp step Alara took, her heels clicking in rhythm as she marched toward the centre of the room. Dark red banners hung from the high walls, draping the space in ominous elegance. The other members of the Volturi sat poised on their thrones, their expressions unreadable, but their eyes—always watching.

At the head of it all, sat Aro. His pale face, framed by long black hair, showed a cool calmness that set Alara's blood on fire. She hated that look. That smug serenity, as if he always knew better, as if he had control of everything, including her.

“How dare you make that decision without consulting me!” she hissed, stopping in front of him, her voice sharp enough to cut through the air. The others exchanged glances but remained silent, their curiosity hidden beneath their regal façades.

Aro lifted a brow, his fingers steepled in front of him, a bemused smile playing on his lips. “My dear Alara, surely you understand the necessity of—”

“No! Don’t you ‘my dear’ me,” she interrupted, her voice cracking under the weight of her anger. “You’ve made decisions before, I’ve let it slide. But this… this is too far.”

He sighed softly, unfurling from his seat and taking slow, deliberate steps toward her. The distance between them shrank, but it only intensified the tension. His towering presence, his gaze—so focused, so cold—made her feel like a chess piece he could move at will.

“I made the decision to protect you, Alara. To protect us,” he murmured, tilting his head in a way that suggested patience, but there was a flicker of irritation in his tone.

“Protect me?” Alara’s voice was incredulous now. “You think I need protecting from you? From the choices I’ve already made? You don’t get to take away my agency like that. Not here, not anywhere.”

The room felt like it held its breath, watching the volatile exchange between the two. Alara’s heart was racing, her anger flaring hotter with every word. Her frustration burned as Aro’s expression remained maddeningly calm. She wanted to shake him, make him understand that she wasn’t just a pawn in his centuries-old game. But he looked at her like she was fragile, something that needed to be preserved, handled with care. And that infuriated her even more.

Aro took another step closer, so close now she could smell the faint, intoxicating scent that clung to him. “Alara, I did what I thought was right.”

“You never even gave me a chance to decide for myself!” she shot back, her voice lowering, shaking slightly from the strain of trying to keep her composure. Her eyes, fiery with emotion, met his, and for a moment, the unshakable Aro seemed to falter, the weight of her words landing squarely on him.

There was a long, heavy pause. The silence was almost suffocating. Finally, Aro spoke, his voice softer, almost regretful.

“I can’t risk losing you,” he admitted quietly, barely loud enough for her to hear. The admission caught her off guard.

Alara blinked, momentarily stunned by the sudden vulnerability in his voice. She had expected him to dismiss her concerns, to keep playing his game of calculated indifference. But there it was, laid bare in the soft tremor of his voice—a flicker of fear.

She stepped back, needing space, her pulse hammering in her throat. “You… can’t just keep me under your control to protect me. That’s not how this works, Aro. I won’t be caged.”

Aro’s eyes flickered, something unreadable passing through them. He took a slow breath, his gaze never leaving hers. “I… understand.”

Alara swallowed, her anger ebbing, but frustration still simmered beneath the surface. She folded her arms tightly, more out of self-defense than anything else. She wasn’t sure where to go from here, how to bridge the gap between them.

In the tense silence, Aro tilted his head slightly, studying her with a new softness, as if trying to read her thoughts. “A hug, perhaps?” he offered, a tentative smile tugging at his lips. His voice was so light, it seemed almost absurd after the tension between them.

Alara blinked, her expression shifting from anger to disbelief. “Hug? Absolutely not,” she scoffed, turning away from him, though her heart skipped a beat at the absurd suggestion.

But Aro wasn’t deterred. He stepped closer again, his voice dropping to a low murmur. “I think a hug would do us both some good right now.”

“I’m still angry,” Alara muttered, her back to him. She could feel his presence behind her, looming but not suffocating.

“And I expect you will be, for some time,” he conceded, his voice soft with a rare tenderness. “But you’re also very stubborn. So am I. We’ll continue to clash, I’m sure.”

Alara closed her eyes, feeling the weight of his words. She was angry, yes, but beneath it all was something else. Her connection to him was complicated, frustrating, but undeniable.

With a sigh, she turned to face him, and for the first time in what felt like hours, she allowed herself to soften. “Fine,” she muttered, her lips twitching into a small, reluctant smile. “One hug. But just this once.”

Aro’s eyes brightened with a rare, almost childlike amusement, and without hesitation, he closed the remaining distance between them, wrapping his arms around her in a surprisingly warm embrace.

Despite herself, Alara melted into him, the warmth of his touch soothing the raw edges of her anger. She rested her head against his chest, feeling the coolness of his skin beneath his clothes. His grip was gentle, but firm, as if he was afraid to let go.

“Don’t think this makes everything better,” she mumbled into his chest.

“I wouldn’t dare,” Aro whispered, his voice low and teasing. “But it’s a start, is it not?”

Alara sighed again, but a smile tugged at her lips. “Maybe.”

For now, that was enough.

Chapter Text

The air was cool in Volterra, the evening sun casting its final rays through the high arched windows of the castle, painting the stone walls in golden hues. Alara wandered through the ancient corridors, the soft swish of her light blue dress trailing behind her, though her mind wasn't on the soft fabric or the echoes of her footsteps.

It was him. Marcus.

A flutter in her chest reminded her of how deeply he had become ingrained in her, in her very being. How long had it been since their lives intertwined? Weeks? Months? Time held little meaning in a world of immortality, but her feelings for Marcus remained sharp, unwavering, and endlessly profound.

She turned a familiar corner, her feet moving almost on instinct as she approached one of the quieter, more secluded rooms in the castle. She knew exactly where she'd find him. Her heart raced, her steps slowing as she reached the doorway. And there he was.

Marcus, seated at the grand piano, his fingers lightly resting on the keys, though they didn't play. He wore the white button-up shirt — crisp and flawless. It clung to his frame, outlining his broad shoulders and long, statuesque body. The way it contrasted with the darkness of the room, against the pale hue of his skin, made him appear even more like a painting brought to life, a timeless portrait of elegance.

Alara leant against the doorway, allowing herself a moment to simply admire him. He had been distant once, closed off and unreachable, like an unscalable mountain. But now, here he was, more vulnerable with her than anyone had been in centuries.

Marcus's head turned, as though he had sensed her before her presence could be fully registered. His gaze softened, and his lips curved into the subtlest of smiles, an expression that was reserved only for her.

"You," he greeted, his voice low, like velvet caressing her ears. "Sneaking around again?"

A smile tugged at her lips as she stepped further into the room. "You know what white button-up shirts do to me," she teased, folding her arms, her tone playful, yet daring, as she watched his reaction.

For a moment, Marcus's gaze flickered, and a slow smile formed at the edges of his mouth. He was beautiful when he smiled, a sight she rarely saw — a gift, one that made her chest tighten with an emotion so deep it hurt.

"Is that so?" Marcus's voice held a note of amusement, as he stood up, his fluid grace still managing to captivate her. The soft rustle of his shirt filled the silence, and every step he took towards her sent a wave of warmth through her body.

Alara's pulse quickened as he neared. She reached out, brushing an invisible speck of dust from his shoulder, though her fingers lingered deliberately, feeling the cool texture of his skin beneath the fabric. "I think you know exactly what I mean," she murmured, her voice soft, teasing. "You wear it on purpose."

Marcus tilted his head, his brow raised ever so slightly. "And if I do?"

Her heart stuttered as she met his gaze. The deep, dark depths of his eyes held centuries of wisdom, loss, and pain — yet here, now, they held something else. Something softer. Something only she could ever hope to see.

"Then you're being completely unfair," Alara replied with a playful pout, standing on her toes to press a light kiss to his cheek. The brush of her lips against his cold skin sent a thrill through her, a reminder of how impossibly different they were. But also, how perfectly they fit.

Marcus's low chuckle reverberated through her, sending shivers down her spine. His hands came to rest lightly on her waist, the coolness of his touch at odds with the warmth that surged through her body. He always held her gently, as though afraid that one wrong move might shatter her. Yet the safety in his presence was something Alara clung to, a sanctuary in the storm of their world.

"Maybe," he whispered, his gaze drifting from her lips to her eyes, "I wear it because I like the way you look at me when I do."

His words, so simple yet so profound, made her breath hitch. Marcus wasn't one to vocalise his emotions often — centuries of loss and heartache had left him guarded. But when he did speak, every word felt heavy, drenched in meaning. And it was in those rare moments that she truly understood just how deeply he felt for her.

"You really are impossible," she breathed, leaning her forehead against his chest, the cool fabric of his shirt a contrast to the warmth spreading through her. She could hear the soft rustling of the cloth as she exhaled, the world beyond them fading into insignificance.

His fingers brushed against the side of her face, gently lifting her chin so that their eyes met once more. "I thought you liked a challenge," he murmured, the hint of a smile playing on his lips.

She grinned, unable to help herself. "I do. But you — Marcus, you've ruined me for anyone else."

There was a flicker of something in his gaze — something deep and ancient, like the slow burning embers of a fire that had almost gone out, only to be reignited by a single spark. He bent down, capturing her lips in a kiss that was slow, deliberate, and filled with all the intensity he rarely allowed himself to express. It was a kiss that spoke of centuries of waiting, of yearning, of finding something worth holding onto.

When they finally pulled apart, their foreheads resting against each other, Marcus let out a quiet sigh. "You have no idea how long I've waited to feel this again."

Alara's heart swelled, her fingers playing with the collar of his white button-up. "Then I guess it's a good thing you wear this shirt so often."

His soft laughter filled the room, a sound she cherished, and he pressed a kiss to her temple, holding her close as the last rays of sunlight faded, leaving them wrapped in the comforting embrace of the night.

Chapter Text

The Volturi throne room wasn't normally this lively outside of official business.

Felix, Demetri, and Jane all stared with a mix of disbelief and helpless amusement at the sight before them. Alara, the mate to the Volturi kings themselves, was teetering on her feet, an empty wine bottle clutched in her hand, dancing and stumbling as she sang loudly—albeit off-key—and completely unbothered by her lack of balance. She twirled clumsily, nearly toppling over with every exaggerated movement, her laughter echoing through the room as she continued her impromptu drunken performance.

"She's... something else," Demetri muttered, raising an eyebrow.

Jane crossed her arms. "Downright drunk," she said, watching Alara nearly trip over her own feet while singing a garbled melody.

Felix chuckled, shaking his head. "I've seen her in battle, but this… this is a different kind of fight."

Alara swayed dramatically, throwing her arms up as if conducting an invisible orchestra, her voice rising in an impromptu, slurred song. She stumbled again, narrowly avoiding a fall as she tried to twirl, but only succeeded in wobbling dangerously.

"Alara," Felix began carefully, stepping forward as though approaching a wild animal. "Maybe you should sit down. You're—"

"—so drunk." Jane interjected. Jane, who normally had a terrifying glare that could freeze hearts, seemed completely unsure of what to do with a drunken Alara.

"I am not drunk!" Alara slurred, waving the bottle in the air dramatically before nearly losing her balance. Felix darted forward to catch her, but she stubbornly pushed him away. "I'm perfectly fine! Just a little… tipsy!"

Demetri raised an eyebrow. "Tipsy? You can barely st—."

"Time to dance!" she interrupted, swinging the empty bottle around as though it were part of her routine.

"Alara, maybe it's time to call it a night."

She shot him a defiant look. "Call it a night? I'm just getting started!" With a mischievous glance toward Demetri, she added, "Try and stop me!" Her attempt at a dramatic pose was ruined by another stumble, and Felix quickly reached out to steady her before she hit the ground.

"No one's challenging you," Felix said, amusement lacing his words. "But I think you've had enough fun for tonight."

Alara, clearly not having any of it, narrowed her eyes. "I can take all of you on. All of you!" She wobbled, swaying side to side. "No one tells me when to stop drinking!"

Felix exchanged a glance with Demetri, who sighed deeply. "Right, and what's your plan exactly? Fight us all off?"

"Yes!" she shouted triumphantly, pointing at Felix with the wine bottle. "You first! Come at me!"

Felix let out a hearty laugh, shaking his head. "No one's fighting you, Alara. We're trying to help—"

Alara waved him off, her gaze unfocused but filled with determination. "Nonsense! You're all just scared of how powerful I am!" She took a wobbly step forward, trying to spin again, but this time her legs gave way, and she plopped onto the floor, sitting in a heap of laughter.

Jane smirked, stepping closer with a dry tone. "Clearly, the mighty Alara has been defeated by her own two feet."

Alara looked up, squinting as if trying to process Jane's words, then laughed even harder. "You're just lucky I'm… taking a break! Otherwise, I'd win."

Demetri shook his head, crossing his arms. "Right. Clearly invincible."

Before anyone could comment further, the grand doors swung open, revealing Aro, Caius, and Marcus entering the room. Their eyes quickly took in the scene—Alara sitting on the floor, empty bottle in hand, laughing at her own missteps—while the guard watched in bemused silence.

A fond smile played on Aro's lips as he approached. "What do we have here, my dear?" His voice brimmed with affection, though a faint hint of concern lingered beneath his amusement.

With a sigh of exasperation, Caius pinched the bridge of his nose. "This is ridiculous," he muttered, though his gaze softened when it fell upon Alara.

Marcus, ever quiet, simply sighed and walked over to help Alara up. "Love, you're so drunk," he said softly, pulling her gently to her feet.

Alara looked at him, blinking through her inebriation, and grinned. "I'm not drunk!" she declared with dramatic flair. "I'm just… having fun!"

As Marcus steadied her, Alara's gaze shifted across the room. Her eyes landed on Jane, and that familiar surge of defiance flickered within Alara, fuelling her next move.

"And you!" Alara slurred, narrowing her eyes at Jane, pointing the wine bottle at the smaller vampire as if it were a weapon. "You don't scare me, Jane. Not one bit!"

Jane raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms as she regarded Alara with mild amusement. "Is that so?" she said, her tone calm but tinged with curiosity.

"Uh-huh," Alara continued confidently, despite swaying on her feet. "Your little pain trick? Won't work on me. Wanna know why?"

The guard exchanged glances, unsure whether to laugh or intervene. Jane tilted her head, intrigued. "Enlighten me."

Alara leaned forward dramatically, lowering her voice as if sharing a great secret. "Because my brain's numb!" She tapped her temple proudly with a drunken grin. "You can't hurt me when I can't feel anything!"

There was a beat of stunned silence as the others processed her logic. Demetri smirked, trying and failing to suppress a chuckle, while Felix burst out laughing, doubling over at the absurdity of it all. Even Jane, normally stoic, allowed herself a brief, incredulous laugh.

"Trust me," Alara added, wobbling slightly, "you can't break what's already broken!" She giggled to herself, clearly very proud of her logic.

Jane, half-amused and half-exasperated, crossed her arms. "I'll take your word for it," she said dryly, shaking her head.

Caius finally stepped forward. "Alright, that's enough," he said, his voice firm but filled with affection. "Alara, love, you've had your fun. Time to put the bottle down before you hurt yourself."

Alara huffed, crossing her arms stubbornly. "You never let me have fun."

"Fun? This is what you call fun?" Caius raised an eyebrow, clearly trying not to smile as he stepped closer to her. "Fun is one thing. Starting a fight with the elite guard while drunk is another."

Alara's face flushed, but her defiance remained. "I was just… testing them! And I would've won too if you hadn't interrupted."

Felix snorted, unable to hold back his amusement. "You tried to fight us with a wine bottle, Alara."

She shot him a look that could've rivalled Jane's glare on any other day. "I was improvising!" She waved her hands in the air. "It's called strategy, Felix. You wouldn't understand."

Demetri smirked, crossing his arms. "Right, and stumbling about was a part of your strategy too, I assume?"

Alara's eyes narrowed. "I wasn't stumbling! I was... luring you into a false sense of security."

Aro, trying his best not to laugh, placed a gentle hand on her arm. "Alara, love, we understand you don't think you're drunk, but—"

"I'm not!" she interrupted, stomping her foot, although the effect was somewhat ruined by the way she swayed dangerously to the side. "Just because I had a little wine doesn't mean I'm out of control."

Raising an eyebrow, Caius remarked, "A little? That bottle is empty."

Alara rolled her eyes with dramatic flair. "It was a small bottle!"

Aro chuckled softly, leaning in a bit closer. "Love, it wasn't that small."

With a huff, Alara's frustration became evident. "You're all exaggerating. I was perfectly fine. And I still am."

Caius took a step forward, his voice softening just a touch. "Alara, you could have hurt yourself."

"I wasn't going to get hurt!" she protested again, her voice rising. "I was in complete control!"

Demetri, shaking his head in amusement, glanced at Felix. "Complete control?"

Felix chuckled. "Clearly." Alara scowled at them all.

Aro's smile grew, full of affection. "My fiery little fighter, I think it's time to call it a night, don't you?"

"No!" Alara declared stubbornly. "I'm not going to bed. I'm going to…" She paused, trying to think of something grand. "...go fight someone!"

Demetri raised a hand, grinning. "I volunteer to be your next opponent."

Alara glared at him. "I could take you, Demetri."

Aro exchanged a glance with Caius, both clearly torn between amusement and concern, as Marcus, standing quietly nearby, observed with a patient smile. Aro stepped forward, brushing a stray strand of hair from Alara's face with a fond smile. "Alright, love. That's quite enough excitement for one night. Let's get you to bed." he said gently.

She huffed, crossing her arms stubbornly. "I don't need sleep. I need wine." She looked between them all with mock indignation.

Marcus finally spoke, his voice calm and steady. "And what would you do with all that energy, amore? Another battle, perhaps?" He arched a brow, amusement dancing in his eyes.

Alara narrowed her eyes at him but smirked. "Exactly. Maybe you're next, Marcus."

Marcus chuckled softly, shaking his head. "I'd be honoured, but Aro's right. Sleep first, battles later."

Aro gently pried the bottle from Alara's grip. "We're not trying to stop your fun, amore. We just can't have you getting hurt because of a little wine."

Alara sighed dramatically, leaning into Aro's arms as the bottle was finally taken away. "I wasn't gonna get hurt," she mumbled, her voice a mix of exhaustion and defiance. "I had everything under control." Her words were slurred, but the stubborn determination was clear.

Felix chuckled from across the room. "Sure you did."

Alara shot him a half-hearted glare. "I could've taken all of you."

Aro chuckled softly, his arms tightening around her. "We know, love. But maybe you'll save your battles for tomorrow, hmm?"

As Aro guided her out of the throne room, Marcus fell into step beside them. He placed a gentle hand on Alara's shoulder. "You'll have all of us trembling tomorrow," he teased softly.

Caius couldn't help but smile, his voice soft with affection. "We'll let you think that, love."

Alara huffed one last time, leaning deeper into Aro's hold. "I'm still not drunk," she muttered under her breath.

Felix and Demetri exchanged amused glances, and Jane shook her head with a faint smile as they watched Aro and Marcus guide Alara away.

"I still could've taken all of you," Alara mumbled one last time, her voice softer now.

Caius, following just behind them, smiled to himself at her stubbornness. As they turned a corner, he whispered softly, "We'll pretend you could, love. We'll pretend you could."

Alara glanced back at him, still pouting, but the fight was leaving her as exhaustion finally took over. Marcus and Aro shared a knowing look, each keeping a gentle hold on her, while Caius stayed close, ensuring she was safely escorted, his protective nature quietly showing through.

Chapter Text

In Volterra, the Volturi throne room was a place of rigid routines and quiet dominance—a place where the kings ruled with an iron fist under carefully measured words and unspoken expectations. Alara had seamlessly adapted to life among them, slipping into the same pattern of strict routines that defined the Volturi, particularly her own unwavering morning ritual. She'd been a resident for six months, and each morning she'd appear punctually around 7:00, maybe 7:30, to greet the kings with a fresh cup of coffee in hand, slipping easily into the delicate dance of their coven.

But today, something was off. Aro glanced at the clock again—8:31—and his mouth turned in a soft frown. Caius, whose patience ran notoriously thin, noticed Aro's expression and tightened his own grip on the edge of his throne, a dangerous glint settling in his eye. Aro tapped his long, pale fingers on the arm of his throne, glancing up towards the door in quiet frustration. He shared a look with Marcus, who, though outwardly calm, had a furrow in his brow that betrayed a tinge of concern. Caius paced the room with a scowl.

"No messages." Aro murmured to his brothers, placing his phone down. Marcus gave a barely perceptible nod, his expression unreadable but tinged with a silent, unspoken worry.

"She is late," Caius bit out, his voice laced with irritation, yet an underlying worry showed in his gaze. "This is unlike her."

"Yes," Aro murmured, unable to hide a subtle crease between his brows. "Our Alara… so consistent, so loyal to her routine. I cannot recall her ever being late without a word."

"Perhaps she has simply overslept," Marcus suggested quietly, though he glanced towards the door as if hoping she would walk through it any moment. Alara's morning rituals had become a comforting presence within the Volturi castle, and today, her absence loomed like an uninvited shadow.

Another ten minutes slipped by, and the silence became oppressive.

Without another word, the three kings rose, their motions a perfect display of unity and authority. They were joined by Renata and Felix, who quickly fell into step beside them, an unsaid command for readiness evident in their every step.

The castle corridors were quiet, save for the faint brush of their footsteps against marble as they passed through hall after hall. First, they checked her chambers; the bed was neatly made, but the room was empty. No sign of her anywhere. Moving to the kitchens, they hoped she might still be there, preparing her coffee and simply running a little late. But the familiar clatter of cups and the fragrant brew of coffee were missing. The kings exchanged a glance, worry creeping into Aro's gaze now, a rare expression that had Felix and Renata exchanging wary glances.

They were moving towards the upper floors, the tension thick between them, when faint laughter drifted up from below—a warm, unmistakably human sound that stopped the kings in their tracks. They all exchanged a glance before heading towards the source. Down in the garden, under the golden sunlight that gently brushed through the morning mist, was Alara, laughing.

The gardener, a wiry man with a weathered face and a ready smile, balanced his coffee mug on top of his rake handle, grinning at Alara.

"You know, I've got this houseplant back home that just… hates me," Alara admitted, laughing. "Every time I water it, it looks at me like, 'Really? This is your idea of help?'"

The gardener chuckled, taking a sip of his coffee. "I know exactly what you mean. I swear, my cactus somehow died of over watering. A cactus! My wife won't let me hear the end of it."

"Oh, no," Alara laughed. "See, that's why I stick to plants that look okay even when they're mostly dead."

He snorted. "That's a solid strategy. I've got a plant in the kitchen that's so stubborn, it's practically got a personality. It's like, 'I don't care what you do; I'm surviving out of spite.'"

"Spite?" Alara grinned. "Now, that's a kindred spirit. Maybe I should be taking notes. What's your secret—threats? Bribery?"

The gardener nodded sagely. "All of the above. You have to talk to 'em, you know? Really let 'em know who's boss. I tell mine, 'Look, either you grow, or you're going in the compost.'"

Alara laughed so hard she almost spilled her coffee. "Guess I'll have to start threatening my fern. 'You don't shape up, buddy, and it's back to the nursery for you.'"

The gardener clinked his coffee cup against hers with a grin. "There you go. Tough love, that's the trick. Plants these days, so sensitive."

Alara hummed thoughtfully, her smile lingering as she glanced around the garden. She took a sip of her coffee, entirely at ease, and glanced over her shoulder, eyes sparkling as though sensing their presence. Aro knew that look—she knew precisely where they were, aware they'd been watching her without her even turning around.

Alara took a last sip of her coffee, her smile bright and mischievous as she leaned towards the gardener. "Well, I'd better let you get back to work," she said in a low, playful tone. "Wouldn't want the vamps around here to catch you slacking off and decide you look like a good mid-morning snack."

The gardener's eyes widened before he caught on, chuckling nervously. "Ah, yeah… I like my blood right where it is, thanks."

She grinned, giving him a wink. With a friendly wave, she sent him off, watching him head back to his duties with a little extra speed. She walked over toward the three kings, with a beaming smile on her face.

"Good morning," she greeted, her tone bright and relaxed, as if it were still her usual hour and not a full ninety minutes past it. Her brow lifted with a teasing curiosity. "What brings you three outside on a beautiful day like this?"

Aro's mouth curled into a faint smile, amusement flickering in his eyes. "We were merely... concerned, mia amore. It seems our Alara has decided to take some liberties with her usual routine this morning."

"Your delay was… noted," Caius muttered, trying to maintain his usual stern demeanour, but his eyes betrayed a touch of exasperated fondness.

Alara only laughed, a sound that felt as refreshing as the morning air. "I met Lorenzo in the kitchen, and it turns out he's a really funny guy. Didn't think you'd come searching for me, though," she added with a teasing grin.

Her grin faded slightly, and she tilted her head, giving the three kings a questioning look. She began racking her brain, her thoughts swirling. Did I miss something? she wondered. Was there a trial or a meeting this morning that I completely forgot about?

"I... didn't forget some kind of meeting, did I?" she asked, her tone now uncertain. Her eyes darted from Aro to Caius, then to Marcus, looking for any hint of what she might have overlooked. "I mean, I know I normally see you earlier, but I didn't think I'd kept you waiting for anything important…"

Aro chuckled softly, his amusement unmistakable. "No, tesoro you did not miss a trial or a grand announcement," he reassured her, his tone laced with affection. "We simply noticed the absence of our most punctual morning visitor."

Caius crossed his arms, still maintaining a touch of his usual sternness. "It would seem your morning presence has become... expected," he admitted, though he quickly looked away, as if reluctant to reveal any such attachment.

She let out a breath, her shoulders relaxing as a relieved smile crept back onto her face. "You know, for a minute there, I thought I was in trouble."

"Not trouble, mia amore. Just... missed." Marcus's faint smile grew, his gaze soft.

"As you are well aware, mia cara we do not take kindly to surprises when it comes to you." Aro chuckled, stepping closer, reaching for her hand with a gentleness that contrasted with his usual authoritative manner.

Marcus observed her quietly, his gaze softening. "Your presence has a way of disrupting the balance around here, Alara," he admitted in his quiet way. "For better or for worse, it seems we've come to rely on it."

"You… missed me?" she asked, a hint of surprise in her voice, her brows lifting as she tried to process it.

"More than you know, mia cara." Aro murmured, his tone warm. "You may have fallen into a routine, but in doing so, you've brought a certain… comfort to this castle."

"For a place so accustomed to eternity, your predictability brings a reminder that, perhaps, there's beauty in the everyday." Marcus nodded, his faint smile holding a rare warmth.

Alara couldn't help the small smile that crept over her face, though her expression held a flicker of vulnerability. "Well, I never thought a morning coffee routine would be something you three would... value," she admitted, her voice quiet. "Guess it's nice to be missed."

Aro chuckled, lifting her hand slightly as if it were precious. "Quite right. So, if you're planning any more 'surprises'"—he gave a playful yet pointed look—"consider leaving a note."

Alara's smile deepened, and before she could stop herself, she leaned in and pressed a light peck to Aro's cheek. "Consider it noted," she murmured, her eyes twinkling. Turning to Marcus, she gave him the same affectionate gesture, feeling his faint smile grow warmer as he accepted it.

When she turned to Caius, he arched a brow, his gaze intense and unwavering. As she leaned in to give him a quick peck on the cheek, he swiftly caught her, his hand sliding to the back of her neck, pulling her closer. His lips met hers, capturing her in a kiss that was anything but brief—deep and lingering, filled with a possessive intensity that made her heart skip.

When he finally released her, his lips curled in a satisfied smirk. "Consider that a reminder," he murmured, his voice soft but possessive. "Your routine is noticed, Alara."

Alara, still catching her breath, chuckled softly, a playful gleam in her eyes. "Well, if you keep greeting me like that, Caius, I might just have to be late a little more often…"

Chapter Text

The throne room was quieter than usual, a heavy stillness settling over the ancient stone walls. Aro sat at the long table to the side of the room, his fingers gliding over the delicate pages of an old book, though his attention frequently drifted toward his brother. Marcus stood nearby, his gaze lowered as he skimmed the worn lines of an old text spread out before him. Both brothers were aware of the tension radiating from Caius, who had been uncharacteristically silent, standing stiffly with his back to them and his gaze fixed on the door.

Aro and Marcus exchanged silent glances, their intrigue unmistakable. They’d attempted to draw him into conversation, each trying in his own way to understand what was troubling him, but Caius had barely acknowledged them. It was rare for him to be so distant, so unwavering focused on something—or rather, someone—not yet present.

Aro finally sighed, closing his book with a quiet thud, his gaze flicking between Caius and the door, his curiosity growing. Marcus leaned subtly in Caius’s direction, his brow furrowing in contemplation, as if piecing together an unseen puzzle. They could sense that something was building, something Caius seemed braced for.

Then the heavy doors opened, and Alara entered, her footsteps echoing softly against the stone floor. She paused, sensing an odd shift in the air, a weight that hadn’t been there before. Unaware of the scrutiny she was under, she looked around, her gaze settling first on Aro and Marcus, who were watching her with expressions of dawning understanding. Both sets of eyes drifted back to Caius, who had gone impossibly still.

At the sight of her, Caius straightened, his posture rigid yet purposeful, his gaze locking onto her with an intensity that was palpable. Aro and Marcus exchanged glances once more, a silent realisation settling between them. It was her. Caius had been waiting for Alara. And now, with her arrival, it was clear that whatever was about to happen had everything to do with her.

The silence in the grand hall was dense, almost suffocating, as she approached him. Caius stood tall, yet unusually stiff, as if caught between his pride and something much more vulnerable. His face was severe, but there was an intensity in his gaze that sent a shiver through her. Even Aro and Marcus exchanged curious glances, clearly puzzled by their brother’s unusual behaviour.

Caius shifted, slipping his hand into the pocket of his tailored suit. Alara barely noticed the movement until his fingers emerged, holding something small and gleaming in the flickering light of the scones adorning the walls.

As she stepped closer, the object came into focus—a symbol she had seen countless times, yet never like this. The Volturi crest hung from a gold chain, its intricate details casting delicate shadows across his pale fingers. Her breath caught as the significance settled over her, an unexpected weight pressing down on her chest. This wasn’t just a piece of jewellery; it was their crest, the symbol of his coven, his family.

But Caius didn’t offer it immediately. His fingers held the chain tightly, almost as if he was reluctant to let it go until he was certain of her answer.

“Alara,” Caius said, his voice a low murmur that resonated through the silence, “I present to you the Volturi crest. Not as a symbol of subjugation or loyalty, but as a mark of our bond… as my mate.” His voice softened, a hint of vulnerability threading through it. “It means that I accept you. As my equal. As my queen.” He spoke the words carefully, each one carrying a weight he could not ignore. “To stand beside me…”

The crest dangled between them, suspended in the space that separated them, and yet it felt as if that very space was disappearing. She could see the tension in his posture, the flicker of uncertainty in his eyes, his usual iron control faltering.

Alara’s fingers reached out to touch the crest, but she paused just shy of it, her gaze fixed on his. She could hear the faint tremor in his voice—just a ripple in the steel of Caius Volturi, a sign of the risk he was taking. Here, before Aro and Marcus, he was giving her a piece of himself.

Her heart pounded as she met his gaze, feeling the weight of his unspoken question. For Caius, who had always been defined by his disdain for humans, offering her the crest was akin to tearing down a lifetime of barriers. He was letting her see a part of himself that wanted, hoped, and feared—just like anyone else.

Slowly, she lifted a hand to rest against his cheek, her touch feather-light. “Yes, Caius,” she whispered, her voice filled with warmth and certainty. “I accept… all of it. I accept you.”

The tension in his shoulders eased, and his eyes softened. With her acceptance, Caius moved with a gentleness he rarely displayed, lifting the chain and placing it around her neck, his fingers brushing her skin as he adjusted the crest so it lay perfectly over her heart. His touch was as cool and steady as stone, yet something about it sent a warmth radiating through her.

As he pulled back, their eyes met, and for a moment, it was as if the world faded away, leaving only the two of them standing there, bound by a connection that defied all reason. The crest lay heavy and warm against her skin, a tangible reminder of his promise, his acceptance, and his love. It was a gift she hadn’t dared to hope for, a sign of a bond that transcended her humanity.

Aro and Marcus watched in quiet astonishment. Aro looked as if he had just witnessed the impossible, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. Marcus inclined his head, a flicker of understanding passing through his solemn gaze, recognising the significance of the moment.

With uncharacteristic tenderness, Caius wrapped his arm around her, drawing her closer so that the crest pressed against her heart, a silent vow of the bond they now shared. The coldness he wore like armour seemed to melt away as he gazed down at her, his vulnerability replaced by something stronger—commitment, fierce and unyielding.

“My queen,” he murmured, his voice steady and sure, each word a promise. “You will stand beside me, for as long as we both exist.”

Alara’s eyes softened, a warmth spreading through her that settled every doubt, every hesitation. She leaned into him, her hand reaching up to rest against his cheek, and he held her close. Their lips met in a tender kiss, gentle yet filled with a depth of emotion neither of them had fully acknowledged until now. It was as if the walls of the ancient hall, with all their history, bore witness to this rare, quiet peace between them.

In that perfect silence, they lingered, wrapped in each other’s embrace, their shared bond more powerful than words. But just as they pulled back, a single clap echoed through the hall, shattering the stillness.

One to savour the dramatic moment, Aro clapped his hands once, his delighted grin lighting up his face. “Well, well, Caius,” he drawled, a glint of amused mischief in his eyes. “I never thought I’d see the day when you’d not only tolerate a human but crown one. This is quite the surprise.”

Caius shot him a look sharp enough to cut stone. “I don’t expect you to understand, Aro. Nor do I care if you approve.”

His grin widened, his eyes gleaming with a mixture of amusement and satisfaction as he held Caius’s gaze. “Oh, my dear Caius, I most definitely approve,” he said, his tone lilting with playful sarcasm. “In fact, I would’ve crowned her ages ago if it were my place. But I must admit, I was growing rather impatient with your lack of action.”

Caius’s jaw clenched, though Alara could sense the tension had softened. “This decision was mine to make, Aro,” he retorted, his voice cold but calmer. “I don’t need your meddling.”

He chuckled, placing a hand over his heart in mock offence. “Meddling? Moi?” He cast a sidelong glance at Alara, his tone lowering to one of sincere delight. “Alara, dear, I do hope you’ll forgive me, but it has been a pleasure watching Caius fumble through his emotions these past few months. You’ve softened him in ways I never thought possible.”

She felt a small smile creep onto her face, glancing up at Caius, who now looked decidedly less amused. But she saw the faintest flicker of understanding in his eyes, a silent acknowledgement of the truth behind Aro’s words.

“I would have made you one of us the day we met if I thought Caius would allow it, but I was wise enough to step back and watch. This,” Aro gestured to the crest now resting over Alara’s heart, “is far more meaningful. The choice was his, freely given. And that, my dear Caius, is perhaps the most extraordinary thing I have seen in all my years.”

Caius’ face remained as impassive as ever, his expression carefully guarded, yet she could feel the weight of his decision settling around them like a protective shield. In a rare, unspoken display, he tightened his arm around her, drawing her closer—a silent declaration of his choice, of his commitment to her.

For once, he didn’t challenge Aro’s approval or cut in with a sharp retort. Instead, he let the words hang in the air, allowing Aro’s acceptance to linger as if granting it an acknowledgement he had never considered before. This small concession, this quiet acquiescence, felt more powerful than anything he could have said.

Alara felt Aro’s gaze shift to her, a blend of respect and curiosity sparking in his eyes. “Welcome to the family, Alara,” he said warmly, with a sincerity that surprised her. “I dare say we’re fortunate to have you among us, even if some of us were too stubborn to admit it.”

She felt a warmth rise within her at Aro’s words, the kind of warmth that even Caius’s acceptance hadn’t fully stirred. She knew, deep down, that Caius had accepted her in his own guarded, gradual way, slowly breaking down his own walls to let her in. But to hear it from Aro—the leader of the Volturi, the one who held the fate of so many in his hands—was something else entirely. His easy, genuine acceptance touched a part of her that had quietly feared rejection.

“Thank you, Aro.” She gave him a warm smile, meeting his gaze with gratitude. Her voice was steady, though her heart felt lighter, the weight of doubt lifting in that moment.

Aro inclined his head, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “You bring something to this coven, Alara,” he continued, his tone softened by sincerity. “A change, a… life that many of us haven’t known in centuries.” He glanced at Caius, who shifted slightly, his grip around Alara tightening ever so subtly, a silent reminder of his claim.

Beside him, Marcus nodded, his solemn gaze falling on her with something almost like approval. “Yes,” he murmured, his voice a gentle echo in the vast hall. “You remind us of something long forgotten, Alara. Do not underestimate the impact of that.”

Alara’s chest swelled with a quiet pride, knowing that this acceptance was real, that her presence here meant more than she’d ever anticipated. With a renewed sense of belonging, she tightened her hold on Caius, feeling the solidity of his presence grounding her.

Caius glanced at her, his usually severe expression softened by an almost imperceptible hint of a smile. “Then it is settled,” he declared, his voice firm, a quiet triumph beneath it. “You are not only my mate but my queen, Alara. And from this day forward, you will stand by my side.”

And as she looked between Caius and his brothers, Alara knew she had found her place—not only by Caius’s side, but as part of something far greater, something timeless. She was no longer an outsider looking in; she was, at last, family.

“I will,” she replied, her voice filled with a fierce determination that mirrored his own. “For as long as you’ll have me.”

Chapter Text

Alara adjusted her wide-brimmed hat, the soft overcast light casting a muted glow over the ancient ruins of Pompeii. Aro strolled beside her, his dramatic flair undimmed by the weather, though his modern tourist ensemble—crisp linen shirt, tailored trousers, and sunglasses—was a comical attempt to blend in. The sunglasses, unnecessary under the clouded sky, perched on his nose with an air of theatricality that made him stand out even more.

"And here," Aro began with an airy wave towards the frescoed walls of a villa, "is where the young mistress of the house would entertain guests with poetry recitals. Such talents, though humble in scope, were highly esteemed. I remember visiting a similar domus—though that one had far less flattering acoustics. The singer was awful—a tragedy of talent wasted on a captive audience. Her voice," he added with a theatrical shudder, "was akin to a dying peacock, and yet, no one dared to tell her. The poor guests were forced to applaud out of sheer politeness—or fear of offending the host, who fancied himself an art patron. It was an excruciating evening. I had to excuse myself halfway through."

Alara raised an eyebrow, suppressing a grin. "You? Excuse yourself? What, you couldn't just suffer through it like everyone else?"

Aro placed a hand dramatically over his chest, his expression pained. "Tesoro, I have endured plagues, wars, and centuries of monotony, but even I have limits. Inept singing? That is where I draw the line."

Alara hid her grin behind her hand as Aro prattled on, his long fingers gesturing towards mosaics, crumbled columns, and even a petrified loaf of bread resting behind a glass case. His commentary was meticulous, filled with such vivid detail that it felt as though he were recounting the events of yesterday. He described the vibrant pigments of the frescoes, now faded, with such precision it was clear he had seen them in their prime. His tone shifted between reverent nostalgia and playful critique, offering personal anecdotes that left no doubt he had been there. Literally.

"And this loaf of bread," Aro said, pausing dramatically in front of the case, "was likely baked mere hours before the eruption. I recall that bakers in Pompeii had a particular flair for over-salting their dough. One poor fellow I knew—Julius, I believe—claimed it was to preserve the bread longer. Utter nonsense! It was simply poor taste. I told him so myself."

Alara raised an eyebrow, struggling to contain her amusement. "Wait, hold up. You were a culinary critic? You don't even eat food, Aro. What's next, a vampire sommelier?"

Aro turned to her with a theatrical sigh, placing a hand over his chest as if wounded by her scepticism. "Ah, my dear Alara, one does not need to consume something to appreciate—or critique—it. My observations were impeccable, informed by a keen sense of smell, the texture of the bread, the reactions of others. You'd be surprised how much one can deduce."

"So you're telling me you judged Pompeii's bread game without taking a single bite?" Alara folded her arms, clearly unconvinced but highly entertained.

"Precisely," Aro replied smoothly, a sly smile tugging at his lips. "Why subject myself to the mediocrity of mortal cuisine when my senses are far superior? The aroma, the texture, even the imperfections in the crust—they all speak volumes without the need for… consumption." He gestured dramatically, as if his explanation were a revelation. "I am, after all, a connoisseur of observation. Tasting would only dull the experience."

"You're unbelievable." Alara snorted, shaking her head.

"Yes," Aro said with a sly smile, "but I'm also rarely wrong."

Aro had just launched into an impassioned explanation of a partially crumbled mosaic, gesturing grandly to what he claimed was the "subtle artistic influence of early Greek settlers." His voice carried above the murmur of other tourists, drawing a few curious glances. Alara ducked her head, biting her lip to keep from laughing as he continued with absolute conviction, oblivious to the growing attention.

"Aro," Alara whispered, nudging him slightly as she tried to stifle her laughter. "People are starting to stare."

As if on cue, a nearby Pompeii staff member—a stern-looking woman with a neatly braided bun and a lanyard announcing her as Sophia, Official Tour Guide—strode over with purpose. She crossed her arms, frowning at Aro's animated gestures.

"Excuse me," Sophia interrupted, her Italian accent thick but her English clear. "Are you a licenced guide?"

Aro turned towards her with his most disarming smile, folding his hands gracefully in front of him. "Oh no, my dear. I am but a humble enthusiast. Merely visiting these ruins to share their wonders with—"

Sophia cut him off with a sceptical look. She shook her lanyard at him. "Are you giving unsanctioned tours? Because that's against regulations."

Before Aro could respond, Alara gasped loudly, clutching her chest as if she'd been struck by lightning. "Wait, you're not with the staff?" she exclaimed, her voice dripping with exaggerated disbelief. She pointed a shaky finger at Aro. "You mean to tell me you're just some random guy, wandering around, passionately lecturing strangers about ancient bricks? Who does that?!" She leant closer to Sophia, stage-whispering, "Is this, like, a new Pompeii attraction? Guerrilla history lessons? Because if it is, it's bold."

Sophia blinked, momentarily thrown off. Her sceptical gaze shifted to Alara. "You… don't know him?" she asked slowly, clearly trying to process the situation.

Alara shook her head, her expression an exaggerated mix of confusion and concern. "No idea who he is! I thought he was with you guys—someone you send around to… spice things up? You know, like a free sample of knowledge." She leaned in conspiratorially and whispered, "Honestly, he's been going on about bread for ten minutes."

She straightened, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "I just figured he was one of those super-passionate historians.. He's really committed to the bit. Have you seen his hand flourish? It's like he's auditioning for a historical drama." She mimicked one of Aro's grand gestures with exaggerated flair, barely keeping her balance as she broke into laughter." I thought he was a hired performer. You know, like, 'Come see the history of Pompeii with an actor who really lived it.' Very immersive experience."

Sophia blinked, clearly baffled. "We don't hire people to do that." She glanced back at Aro, who looked entirely unbothered, his smile serene.

Her frown deepened as she addressed him again, this time more firmly. "Signore, you cannot give tours here without proper credentials. It's against regulations. These are UNESCO-protected ruins, not an open mic for amateur historians."

Aro inclined his head gracefully, as though he were being reprimanded by royalty. "My dear, I am not conducting a tour. Merely sharing my personal enthusiasm with this lovely young woman." He gestured to Alara with an elegant wave of his hand, as if to emphasise her apparent delight in his company. "After all, what is history if not meant to be shared, hmm?"

Sophia frowned, clearly unconvinced, and pulled Alara aside. Her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. "Is he giving you trouble? We've had issues with scammers pretending to be guides. They start talking, then demand money. Very common in Europe."

Alara bit her lip, trying not to laugh. "Trouble? Oh no, he's doing an amazing job. And for free! I didn't even have to book a tour!"

Sophia's frown deepened. "You should be careful," she whispered. "They're very clever. He might try to get money out of you afterwards."

"He can try, but I'm broke." Alara shrugged, deadpan.

Aro, who had of course been eavesdropping with his vampiric hearing, interjected smoothly, stepping into their huddle with a charming smile. "Ladies, I assure you, I require no payment for my services. My joy is found solely in sharing the history of this illustrious city." He placed a hand over his chest for dramatic effect. "For Pompeii is a place of memories... both cherished and tragic."

Sophia squinted at him, her brow furrowing. "There's nothing in the history books about people doing poetry recitals here."

Aro's smile didn't falter as he tilted his head slightly, as though amused by the observation. "Ah, but history books often capture only fragments of life, don't they? The grand events, the wars, the disasters. Rarely do they record the quiet moments—the beauty of a song shared among friends, or the eloquence of a poem recited under the open sky. Those are the memories that linger for those of us… who truly immerse themselves in history." He gestured grandly toward the ruins, his voice silky and reverent.

Sophia frowned, unsure if she was impressed or just being bamboozled. "Still... that seems oddly specific."

"I suppose I have a vivid imagination." Aro gave a soft chuckle, his eyes glinting.

"Right," Sophia said, crossing her arms and fixing Aro with a stern look. "You still shouldn't be leading people around. It's against regulations."

She turned to Alara, her voice dropping into a concerned whisper. "Are you sure he's not bothering you? If he asks for money later, just walk away, okay?"

Alara waved off Sophia's concern with an exaggeratedly sweet smile, giving Aro a cheeky grin as she stepped closer to him. She glanced meaningfully at his waiting arm, then back to Sophia. "Oh, don't worry about me. I'm sure I can pay him in other ways," she said, her voice dripping with mock innocence.

Sophia's eyes widened in horror, her face turning red as she muttered something inaudible about "tourists these days" and stormed off in the opposite direction, shaking her head.

As soon as she was out of earshot, Alara slipped her hand into Aro's arm, barely containing her laughter. "That was so worth it," she whispered.

He chuckled softly, his amusement evident. "Tesoro," he said with a sly smile, "you're going to get us both banned from history. Shall we, my dear? I believe the amphitheatre awaits."

"You're lucky I didn't tell her you used to live here," she teased.

He smirked, his tone as smooth as ever. "And you're lucky I didn't charge you for my unparalleled insights."

She turned to him, her lips curling into a sultry grin as she tilted her head slightly. "Oh, Aro," she purred, her tone dripping with playful sarcasm. "And how would I pay you for such unparalleled insights? Coins? Bread? Perhaps a freshly chiseled mosaic in your honour?"

He arched an elegant brow, his smirk deepening as he leaned ever so slightly towards her. "Tesoro," he replied, his voice a low, amused murmur, "you couldn't possibly afford me. My brilliance is priceless."

"Priceless, huh? You sure it's not just overpriced?" She let out a soft laugh, shaking her head.

His laughter, rich and ancient, echoed lightly through the ruins as he replied, "Touché, my dear. Touché."

Aro and Alara continued to wander through the ruins, with Aro decidedly not giving a tour—but still narrating every detail of the amphitheatre's acoustics and recounting a vivid anecdote about a gladiator's ill-fated attempt at poetry. Alara listened with amusement, occasionally throwing in exaggerated gasps and "oohs" to encourage him.

"Ah, the acoustics here were remarkable, even in my time," he began, his fingers tracing the outline of the ancient structure. "Stand just there, at the center, and even the faintest whisper would echo to the farthest reaches of the audience. Perfect for both stirring speeches and dramatic poetry recitals."

Alara raised an eyebrow, biting back a grin. "Poetry? In an amphitheatre? That's… bold."

"Foolish, rather," Aro corrected, his tone dry. "I remember a particular gladiator—Aemilius Crescens. He fancied himself a poet. Before his duel, he attempted to recite an original piece dedicated to his rival, no less. Something about honour and the inevitability of fate." Aro waved a dismissive hand. "It was dreadful. The audience threw bread at him before he could finish."

Alara gasped, clutching her chest in mock shock. "Bread? Bread? The disrespect!"

Aro smirked, clearly enjoying himself. "Oh, the Romans were quite creative with their critiques. The duel began early when his opponent, a more practical sort, interrupted the recital with a swift strike." He shrugged nonchalantly. "The crowd loved it."

Alara burst into laughter. "You can't just drop a story like that and pretend it's normal, Aro! Who even remembers stuff like that?"

He gave her a knowing look, his tone smug. "Someone with an appreciation for the finer details of history, my dear."

They moved on to a crumbled wall adorned with faint frescoes, and Aro immediately launched into another tale. "This was once the home of a merchant—Calavia Optata, I believe. A charming fellow but terrible at business. He tried to sell imported spices but miscalculated his prices so badly that his customers formed a small mob."

"A mob? Over spices?" Alara asked feigning astonishment.

"Indeed," Aro replied with a sigh, as though it were the most predictable thing in the world. "In those days, food was life, and life was food. He attempted to placate them by hosting a feast, but his cook over-salted the soup. Let's just say he didn't last long in the spice trade."

Alara shook her head, her laughter bubbling up again. "You're like a walking soap opera of ancient times. Do you have a story for every brick in this place?"

Aro placed a hand over his heart, his expression mock-serious. "Every brick has its tale, tesoro. One need only know how to listen."

As they moved towards the remains of a marketplace, he pointed to a row of stone stalls. "And here, the finest seafood of Pompeii was once sold. I recall a fisherman—Gavius Rufus—who claimed his fish could cure ailments. People came from all over to see him, only to discover he was storing his 'cures' in barrels of seawater. The smell was… unforgettable."

Alara wrinkled her nose, grinning. "Sounds like the original snake oil salesman."

"Precisely," Aro said with a chuckle. "Though his cunning was commendable. He lasted longer than the spice merchant."

By the time they reached the edge of the ruins, Alara was clutching her sides, her laughter barely contained. "You're impossible, you know that? You've got these people's entire life stories memorised."

Aro smirked, tilting his head. "Why not? History, after all, is the tapestry of life. And I am simply the weaver, ensuring it remains vivid and intact."

They paused near a crumbled wall, where Aro leaned in conspiratorially. "Tesoro," he whispered, his lips quirking into a mischievous smile, "she's coming back. And she looks… furious."

Alara turned her head slightly, catching sight of Sophia power-walking toward them with the determination of someone on a mission. She stifled a laugh, whispering back, "Do you think she's coming to recruit you? I mean, clearly, you're overqualified for their team."

"Unlikely," Aro murmured, his tone utterly calm. "But I suspect my unbridled brilliance has struck a nerve."

Sophia reached them, her face tight with irritation. She crossed her arms and exhaled sharply. "Signore," she began, her voice clipped, "enthusiasm or not, this is your last warning. You cannot just… 'infect' people with your history." She gestured sharply towards the ruins. "You're not a guide; you need to move along. Immediately."

Alara bit her lip to keep from laughing as Aro turned his full attention to Sophia, his smile sharp and his tone dripping with condescension. "Ah, how tragic it is," he began, folding his hands with theatrical grace, "that in a place brimming with the remnants of civilisation's greatest achievements, one cannot share a morsel of wisdom without being accused of impropriety."

Sophia raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. "Rules are rules, sir."

Aro's expression turned grave, his voice dropping to a dramatic hush as though he were delivering a eulogy for common sense. "Rules," he began, letting the word hang in the air like the weight of a thousand tragedies, "are the scaffolding upon which mediocrity is built. Did Julius Caesar adhere to rules when he crossed the Rubicon, knowing full well it was forbidden by the Senate? No. He defied convention to carve his name into history."

He stepped forward, gesturing toward the ruins with a grand flourish. "And what of the artisans who laboured here in Pompeii? Did they halt their chisels, trembling in fear of some bureaucratic decree about where and how to place a tessera? Of course not! They were visionaries, Sophia. People who refused to bow to the petty confines of authority, crafting wonders that have endured for millennia."

Sophia opened her mouth to speak, but Aro continued, his voice rising with fervour. "Even the great gladiators, whose blood and sweat graced the sands of the amphitheatre—did they pause before a duel to consult a rulebook? Did they submit paperwork to declare their intent to fight for glory and survival? No! They embraced the chaos, the unpredictability, the sheer magnificence of their defiance."

By now, a small group of tourists had gathered nearby, drawn by the theatrical display. Aro turned his gaze to them briefly, as if inviting them to marvel at his wisdom, before fixing Sophia with a pointed stare.

"And yet, here we are," he continued, his tone now tinged with pity, "in the shadow of these timeless wonders, where the great deeds of the past should inspire us to rise above pettiness. But instead, we are shackled by... rules. Pointless, lifeless rules that suffocate the very spirit of Pompeii itself."

Sophia's face turned a deeper shade of red as she clenched her fists. "Rules are in place to protect these ruins," she said through gritted teeth.

Aro tilted his head, his smile returning but with a condescending edge. "Ah, protect. A noble sentiment, no doubt. But tell me, signora, were it not for the ashes of Vesuvius burying this city, would Pompeii even be here for you to guard so zealously? Irony, is it not, that chaos preserved what order could not?"

Sophia looked like she might combust on the spot as Aro delivered the coup de grâce. "You, dear signora, are tasked with safeguarding history, but instead, you choose to stifle it. Your indignation at my sharing of knowledge—a gift freely given, I might add—is not a mark of dedication but a lamentable display of misplaced priorities."

He placed a hand over his chest, as though wounded by her lack of vision. "To be denied the joy of enlightening another in a place as sacred as this… it is a tragedy worthy of the poets themselves. Truly, the artisans of Pompeii would weep to see their legacy so diminished."

Alara clutched her stomach, struggling to contain her laughter. "Aro, maybe tone it down a notch—"

"Ah, tesoro," he said, raising a hand to her, his eyes still locked on Sophia. "I am teaching a lesson in the importance of free thought!"

Sophia blinked, momentarily taken aback by the sheer absurdity of his monologue. "That's… not remotely relevant," she managed to say.

Aro ignored her entirely, his voice swelling with theatrical grandeur as he gestured toward the ancient ruins. "Relevance, my dear signora, is a matter of perspective. Was Socrates deemed 'relevant' as he challenged the orthodoxy of Athens? Was Galileo seen as 'relevant' when he dared to defy the church with his celestial truths? No! Greatness often stands in defiance of what small minds consider pertinent."

He placed a hand dramatically over his heart, his expression pained yet proud, as though he were carrying the weight of history itself. "I, like them, am simply a seeker of truth, a humble admirer of the past, willing to stand against the tide of mediocrity to illuminate the minds of those willing to listen."

Sophia's jaw dropped, her face a mix of disbelief and frustration. "You're comparing yourself to Galileo… over a tour guide rule?"

Aro tilted his head, a sly smile playing at his lips. "Why not, signora? Do not the ruins of Pompeii deserve a champion unburdened by petty regulations? If these stones could speak, they would cheer me on. For I am not merely sharing history—I am embodying it."

Alara, clutching her sides with laughter, waved her hands in mock surrender. "Oh my God, Aro, stop! You're going to give the poor woman an aneurysm!"

Sophia, red-faced and trembling with suppressed rage, jabbed a finger toward the exit. "OUT. BOTH OF YOU. NOW!"

Alara gasped, placing a hand dramatically on her chest as if Sophia had just insulted her honour. "Me? I'm getting kicked out? For this strange man coming up to me and rambling about… times past?" She gestured towards Aro as though he were a complete stranger, her expression one of faux outrage. "I'm the victim here!"

Sophia narrowed her eyes. "You didn't seem very victimised a few minutes ago when you were laughing at his hand gestures."

"I was being polite!" Alara countered, folding her arms indignantly. "You know, trying to let him down easy! But now I'm getting escorted out because I didn't want to hurt his feelings? This is an injustice!"

Aro turned to her with a look of theatrical betrayal. "Hurt my feelings? Tesoro, I thought we had a connection—a shared love of history!"

Alara huffed and pointed at him. "See? He's delusional! I thought he was part of your staff!" She spun back to Sophia, her eyes wide. "Can't you just let me stay? I mean, it's not like I asked him to start mansplaining ancient bread to me!"

Sophia pinched the bridge of her nose, exhaling sharply. "Both of you," she said firmly, her voice brooking no argument. "Out. Now."

Aro, clearly unimpressed with this decree, turned his full attention to Sophia, his expression grave. "Madam, your lack of appreciation for the dissemination of historical knowledge is nothing short of tragic. To stifle the sharing of wisdom in a place such as this is to dishonour the very essence of Pompeii itself. You—"

Sophia cut him off, pointing more forcefully toward the exit. "OUT."

Aro inclined his head with exaggerated politeness. "As you wish, signora. But remember this: you may escort us from the ruins, but you cannot remove the ruins from our hearts."

Alara threw her hands up in mock despair, marching toward the gates while muttering loud enough for the gathering crowd to hear. "I can't believe this. You try to be nice to a passionate stranger, and this is what happens. Kicked out of Pompeii! My reputation will never recover."

Aro followed, his dignity intact despite the chaos, though he couldn't resist turning back one last time to deliver his final word. "Madam," he said, his voice carrying with authority, "this city was reduced to ash, yet its spirit endured. My spirit, too, shall endure, despite your bureaucratic tyranny!"

Sophia muttered something inaudible but distinctly unkind as she turned away, leaving Aro and Alara to exit with a mix of indignation and amusement.

They strolled toward the gates, Aro maintaining an air of dignified calm while Alara struggled to keep a straight face. Once they were outside, she leaned against a wall, shaking with laughter. "I can't believe you just said that. 'You cannot remove the ruins from our hearts'? Really?"

Aro adjusted his cuffs, entirely unbothered. "It's called making an exit, mia amore. Something you should appreciate. Some people cannot recognise greatness. It is a curse we must bear with grace."

"Grace?" Alara snorted. "You practically gave her a history lecture about her own job." She doubled over laughing. "This is officially the most ridiculous day of my life."

"And she rejected it," Aro replied smoothly, offering her his arm. "A tragedy of intellect lost to bureaucracy. Now, shall we find another place to… 'not' give a tour?"

"Lead the way, Professor Pompeii," Alara said, still giggling as they walked off into the bustling streets, leaving the chaos of their visit behind them.

Chapter Text

The Volturi kings stood poised at the edge of the clearing, an imposing wall of authority against the strange alliance gathered opposite them—the Cullens, their allies, and a few wolves shifting on their feet with barely suppressed tension. The atmosphere crackled with mistrust, every pair of eyes darting between enemies, while whispers and low growls stirred the silence.

Alara lingered in the shadows at the back, hidden by the vigilant presence of Renata and Afton, their gazes scanning the surroundings with predatory focus. Anxiety twisted in her stomach, its familiar claws digging deep as she struggled to stay composed. She barely understood what was going on, the distant murmurs and stiff postures of the kings doing little to ease her worries. She hated this uncertainty, the feeling of being out of place. Her heart yearned for the steady comfort of her mates, for their cool, grounding presence, but the guards' firm stances reminded her she was here only as an observer.

"Stay close, Alara. Let them handle this," Renata murmured, her hand resting lightly on Alara's back.

Alara nodded absently, but a heavy sensation pressed against her chest, each breath shallow and strained. Anxiety twisted within her, tight and unrelenting, filling her with worry at the unknown unfolding before them. She tried to focus on the conversation between Aro and Carlisle, but the distance separating her from her mates gnawed at her control. The urge to feel them near, to cling to them amidst the charged tension, was overwhelming.

With a deep, steadying breath, Alara finally surrendered to her instincts. She stepped forward, brushing past Renata, who reached out gently, murmuring a soft, "Stay back, Alara." Ignoring the plea, Alara took another step toward the front line, her movements deliberate but fuelled by a mix of anxiety and resolve.

Before she could get far, Afton appeared in front of her, his hand raised to stop her progress. "Alara, please," he said firmly, his tone calm but tinged with urgency. "This is not a safe place for you. Let us handle this."

Alara's heart thudded against her ribs, her chest tightening as she looked up at Afton's guarded expression. "I can't just stand back here," she said, her voice trembling but determined. "I need to be with them."

Afton hesitated, his body tense, caught between his protective instincts and her clear resolve. "You don't understand how dangerous this could become," he said, his tone softening as if trying to reason with her. "They'll protect you better if you stay behind."

But Alara shook her head, her eyes shining with emotion. "No," she whispered, stepping to the side to move past him. "I need to be there."

He reached out as if to stop her again, but Renata placed a hand on his arm, her quiet voice cutting through the tension. "Let her go, Afton. They won't let her come to harm." Her gaze met Alara's, and there was a flicker of understanding, though her own stance remained watchful.

With one last glance of hesitation, Afton stepped back, though his eyes lingered on Alara as she moved forward. She could feel the weight of their gazes on her, but her focus remained locked on Marcus's steady form at the front. She weaved past the other members of the Volturi guard until she finally broke through, reaching Marcus's side. As she felt the familiar presence of his quiet, solemn strength, the heavy weight pressing on her chest began to ease.

Almost instinctively, her hand reached for his cloak, clutching it gently as she sidled up to him, pressing her front lightly against his back. Marcus's frame stilled, and, in a rare display, he shifted ever so slightly, acknowledging her presence. The tension eased just a fraction, grounding her amidst the storm of emotions swirling around them.

Peeking around Marcus's arm, she caught sight of the Cullens and their allies, feeling the weight of their questioning gazes. But as Marcus's hand slipped back, entwining his fingers with hers, a soothing calm began to wash over her, his touch radiating the unspoken promise that she wasn't alone in this.

From the corner of her eye, she noticed Caius throwing her a quick, exasperated glare, his fierce protectiveness clashing with his usual scorn for her defiance. Aro, however, looked almost amused, his lips curling up in a faint smile as he watched her claim her place among them, seemingly undeterred by the enemies facing them.

Marcus's thumb traced gentle circles along her palm, his silent way of comforting her. The cool of his touch seeped into her, dulling the sharp edges of her fear and anchoring her in the moment. Being near the kings made her feel exponentially better; the tension in her chest eased as she could now see what was happening, no longer left in the dark. Marcus's presence and the solid strength of her other mates brought her a steady calm.

Yet, a nervousness still lingered, an undercurrent of worry about what might unfold. Though her heart felt steadier, her mind couldn't shake the fear of the unknown, her gaze flicking nervously between the Cullens and the wolves.

Renata and Afton moved closer, flanking Alara with silent resolve. Their duty to protect her was unwavering, despite her defiant move to the front. Renata hovered by her right side, her body positioned to shield Alara from any potential threat, her gift ready to ward off anyone who might come too close. Afton positioned himself to her left, his keen eyes scanning the gathered crowd, watching for any flicker of movement that could spell danger.

Though Alara felt her heart steady with Marcus's hand in hers, she couldn't help but glance up at Renata, who gave her a barely perceptible nod of reassurance. There was a fierce loyalty in Renata's gaze that melted some of Alara's anxiety, grounding her even further. Afton's face was a mask of stoic determination, his posture speaking volumes about the seriousness of his role. It reminded her that, for all their complaints earlier, they would stand with her no matter what.

Aro's voice cut through the air, a smooth and commanding tone laced with subtle charm as he addressed Carlisle, his words layered with veiled intentions. Alara clung to Marcus's cloak and his hand, taking strength from his solid presence while focusing on Aro's steady cadence. It was surreal, being here in the middle of an encounter that could easily tip into violence. She had always heard stories about the Cullens, the ones the Volturi watched with suspicion. And now here she was, tucked behind the kings, surrounded by guards, feeling both fragile and fierce.

"Alara, please stay close," Renata murmured, her eyes never straying from the line of wolves, who now seemed to shift with a heightened awareness of the Volturi guard.

Alara gave a soft nod, her fingers curling a bit tighter around Marcus's hand. He responded with a gentle squeeze, wordlessly affirming that he was here, that he understood her need to be close, despite the dangers. She felt Caius's glare shift toward her again, sharp and impatient, but his eyes softened just a fraction when they met hers, as though silently conceding that her presence, however frustrating to him, was something he could accept—at least for now.

In a lull of Aro and Carlisle's conversation, Marcus tilted his head slightly toward her and murmured, "Are you well, cara mia?"

His voice was so soft, but the warmth in his words wrapped around her like a balm, settling her nerves even more. Alara nodded, swallowing as she fought the urge to press closer against his back. She felt protected here, despite the charged atmosphere, knowing that with her guards and her mates, she was cocooned in layers of devotion and strength.

A sudden shift rippled through the Cullen side as a change in the wind carried a distinct human scent from the Volturi's ranks. Their sharp senses caught it immediately, and tension sparked anew as they processed the realisation. Shocked murmurs swept through them as the Cullens, the Denali clan, and the wolves exchanged confused glances, unable to hide their surprise.

Carlisle's gaze settled on Aro, his expression both concerned and questioning. "Aro," he said, his voice cautious, "we seem to smell… a human among you. Surely, the Volturi wouldn't bring a human into this?"

At his words, the tension thickened, and Alara instinctively shifted closer to Marcus, gripping his cloak tightly, her heart pounding. She felt Renata's protective stance strengthen beside her, and Afton positioned himself more firmly at her other side.

Aro's smile grew, his eyes glinting with a mixture of amusement and indulgent fondness as he looked back toward Alara, the faintest spark of possessiveness in his gaze. "Ah, you have keen senses, Carlisle, as always," he replied smoothly, his tone as soft and deliberate as a knife sliding into silk. "Yes, we do indeed have a human here among us. However, I assure you, she is here by choice."

Edward's brow furrowed, his gaze darting between Aro and the figure cloaked protectively behind Marcus, his eyes calculating and suspicious. "Why would you bring a human to a gathering like this?" he pressed, his voice laced with concern and underlying anger. "How can we trust your word that she's not here against her will?"

Catching the sharpness in Edward's tone, Aro held up a hand to forestall any further speculation. "Oh, no, Edward," he replied, his voice carrying a hint of that deceptively gentle charm. "She is not here against her will—quite the contrary. Alara is… very dear to us. I would even say invaluable."

The Cullens exchanged wary glances, their minds working rapidly as they tried to piece together what Aro was hinting at. Rosalie's gaze lingered on Alara with faint suspicion, her protective instincts flaring, while Emmett, usually the most carefree, looked genuinely perplexed.

"Dear to you?" Tanya, her brows furrowing in confusion. "What exactly does that mean?"

Marcus's calm, steady voice broke through the tense silence, his tone low but carrying a weight that stilled everyone. "It means that she is not simply an observer. Alara is… cherished among us, as our mate."

A ripple of shock crossed the faces of the Cullen family and their allies, disbelief colouring their expressions as they processed this revelation. Even the wolves exchanged stunned glances, their postures relaxing slightly as they realised the human wasn't some Volturi captive or pawn, but someone genuinely valued by the kings themselves.

Bella, who had been watching silently, finally spoke up, her voice cautious but curious. "So… she's not a prisoner. She's here because she wants to be?"

Carlisle's expression softened with understanding, and he offered a slight nod. "Then we'll respect that," he said gently, though his gaze remained wary as he glanced back at Aro. "But forgive us for being cautious. You must understand, seeing a human among you naturally raises questions."

Aro inclined his head, his expression a mask of benevolent patience. "Of course, Carlisle. Your concern is noted, and I respect it. But let us be clear on one thing…" His gaze sharpened, a glint of something darker flickering in his crimson eyes. "Alara is under our protection. Any threat toward her will be treated as a threat toward us."

The message was unmistakable, a thinly veiled warning that rippled through both sides. Alara felt Marcus's hand tighten around hers in silent solidarity, his cold presence steadying her amidst the sudden shift in atmosphere.

"We're not here to threaten anyone, Aro. Just to understand." Edward gave a reluctant nod, his gaze still wary but softened by a measure of understanding.

The tension in the air seemed to ease, if only slightly, as both sides acknowledged each other's positions. Alara felt herself relax marginally, the steady warmth from Marcus and the silent strength of Renata and Afton grounding her.

Despite Alara's reassurances, a thick tension lingered in the air, palpable and growing. The Cullens, Denali, and wolves held wary stances, the subtle shifts in their bodies revealing their reluctance to fully believe the Volturi's words. For a human to willingly walk into a den of vampires—the Volturi, no less—seemed unfathomable. Their collective uncertainty hung like a storm cloud, their concerns about her safety unspoken but clear in the glances they exchanged.

"Aro, surely you must understand our hesitation. We don't wish for this to turn into a confrontation, not when a human's life hangs in the balance." Carlisle stepped forward, his expression carefully neutral but his gaze imploring.

Bella's eyes lingered on Alara, her face a mix of empathy and unease. "We don't doubt your intentions, Alara," she said gently, "but it's… hard to believe that you're safe here. You're surrounded by vampires, and the Volturi don't exactly have the gentlest reputation."

Alara swallowed, feeling the weight of their scepticism pressing down on her, but she stood firm, clinging to the reassuring solidity of Marcus's hand. She understood their concerns—she really did. But she knew, in a way they couldn't, the depth of the kings' protection over her. Her very presence here was testament to that. Still, doubt simmered from the other side, the kind of doubt that could turn deadly if left unchecked.

Rosalie's jaw clenched as she regarded Alara with a hard stare. "Human or not, if this comes to blows, it's your life that would be most at risk. You may trust them, but can you really say they'd protect you above all else?"

At that, Caius let out a low, simmering growl, his glare slicing through the Cullens with lethal intent. "You dare question our loyalty to our mate?" he sneered, his voice sharp enough to cut. "You think we would allow harm to come to her?"

Marcus's grip on Alara's hand tightened, a silent acknowledgement of the volatile emotions stirring among the Cullens and their allies. He tilted his head down toward her, his voice barely above a whisper. "Are you certain you wish to remain here, Alara?" The softness in his tone was a stark contrast to Caius's biting hostility, but there was an underlying caution that spoke of his desire to protect her from this brewing storm.

Alara looked up at him, her heart pounding but her resolve firm. She gave him a quick nod, her fingers pressing against his in silent reassurance.

Aro stepped forward, his face a picture of calm that seemed almost eerie given the intensity around him. He looked directly at Carlisle, his gaze unyielding. "Let us be absolutely clear: any harm to Alara would be an unforgivable offence. We may not share your moral compass, but she is more to us than you can comprehend. And should she be harmed…" He trailed off, his gaze sharpening. "I believe you understand the consequences."

Alara noticed Edward's eyes flicker between her and her guards, his uncertainty radiating off him in waves. "It's not that we want to harm anyone," he said, a touch of desperation entering his voice, "but should there be a fight—should things spiral out of control—she could become collateral, whether anyone intends it or not. That blood would be on our hands." The wolves, standing back but clearly tense, rumbled in agreement.

Afton's gaze hardened, his shoulders tense as he looked from the wolves to the vampires across from him. "You assume we would let things spiral to that point. Our sole purpose here is to protect her, above all else. If anyone were foolish enough to threaten her…" His voice trailed off, the words hanging heavy in the air.

Renata leaned in slightly, her voice soft but filled with conviction as she addressed Alara. "We won't let you be harmed, not by anyone."

Alara looked over the faces of the Cullens and their allies, her heart aching at the fear etched in their expressions. She understood the depths of their protectiveness, especially Bella and the wolves. They couldn't fathom the trust she placed in the Volturi because they couldn't see the tenderness she had glimpsed behind their power and intimidation. But that trust was real, as real as the hand she held, and she had to make them see it.

"But you must understand that if a confrontation erupts, there's a risk none of us can fully control," Edward responded, his gaze steady but edged with concern. His voice was calm, but the warning was clear, his eyes flicking toward Alara, a silent acknowledgement of her vulnerability in this volatile mix of supernatural forces.

Aro raised his hands in a motion to silence the Cullens' concerns, his voice both soothing and commanding. "Then perhaps we can all agree to take a step back," he suggested, his gaze sweeping over the gathered crowd. "We need not allow this situation to spiral further. Alara's presence here is testament enough to our commitment to peace."

As the tension continued to simmer, Alara tilted her head up to Marcus, her voice barely a whisper, yet laced with quiet resolve. "Was Bella not a human among vampires at one point?" she murmured, her eyes flicking toward the Cullen side. "What makes her different from the situation I'm in?"

Though she had only intended for Marcus to hear, she saw the slight twitch of Aro's lips, his subtle amusement betraying that he had overheard her. And, of course, Caius, with his intensity, had picked up on every word. A dark glint appeared in his eyes, and without a second thought, he turned his gaze sharply toward the Cullens.

"An excellent question," Caius drawled, his tone pointed, edged with a touch of impatience. "What indeed makes her situation any different from the one Bella once found herself in? A human amongst vampires, willingly. Or have you conveniently forgotten?"

The Cullens exchanged uneasy glances, the weight of Caius's words striking them like a hammer. Bella, who had been standing beside Edward, shifted uncomfortably, her gaze flickering between Alara and her own family. A look of empathy mixed with a faint realisation crossed her face as she absorbed the comparison.

Carlisle cleared his throat, struggling to maintain his diplomatic tone in the face of Caius's blunt challenge. "We don't deny that Bella's situation was… unusual," he admitted, choosing his words carefully. "But we made every effort to ensure her safety, to keep her protected."

"And you assume we would not do the same?" His voice was low, laced with irritation, each word a subtle warning. "Are we to believe that your coven alone understands loyalty and devotion? That you, and only you, have the capacity to protect those you care for?"

Edward, visibly restraining himself, placed a steadying hand on Bella's shoulder. "It's not that we question your loyalty," he replied, though his tone suggested otherwise. "But Bella had made the… choice of her own accord."

At this, Aro's faint smile widened, a glimmer of cunning in his gaze. "Ah, but who's to say Alara would not make such a choice if given time? Is it so difficult to imagine that she may love us as deeply as Bella loves Edward?" His words were deceptively soft, yet they carried an unmistakable challenge, his gaze intent on Edward as if daring him to argue.

Alara took a small step forward, still holding Marcus's hand but now standing just a bit more confidently. "I am here because I choose to be," she said, her voice quiet yet firm. "And while I understand your concerns, I've seen for myself the lengths they would go to protect me. My presence here isn't something that needs justification."

"It's just… risky," Rosalie said, her voice cautious. "We don't want to see anyone hurt—especially someone human who doesn't fully grasp what she's surrounded by."

"Enough," Marcus's voice cut through the tension like a calm but unyielding tide, his hand tightening around Alara's in reassurance. "Alara is no less safe with us than Bella was with you, and that is the truth of it. We are prepared to protect her as fiercely as any of you would."

 "So unless you wish to accuse us further, we suggest you accept her choice and leave it at that." Caius's gaze bore into the Cullens, his stare unyielding.

As the accusations and tension escalated, Alara found herself shrinking back behind Marcus, her heart pounding, her anxiety spiralling out of control. Her chest felt tight, breaths coming in shallow gasps as she clung to Marcus's cloak, feeling the weight of every eye on her. She hadn't anticipated just how overwhelming this would be, standing in the midst of supernatural powers and ancient animosities, with the weight of the Volturi's protection on her shoulders.

Aro's gaze flickered toward her, his lips pressing into a thin line as he sensed her distress. Caius, too, shot a brief, concerned glance in her direction, but neither could step away from the unfolding confrontation. They had a role to play, a duty to their coven, even though every instinct screamed at them to comfort their fragile human mate.

But Renata saw Alara's silent struggle and, without hesitation, in one swift movement, she stepped behind Alara and wrapped her arms around her chest, drawing her into a protective embrace. Alara felt the cool strength of Renata's presence envelop her, grounding her amidst the chaos. The shield of Renata's body behind her and Marcus's steady presence in front created an unyielding cocoon of safety—a vampire sandwich with a very anxious human filling.

Renata rested her chin lightly against Alara's head, her voice soft and reassuring. "You're safe, Alara," she murmured, her tone steady yet protective. "We've got you."

Renata's hold was gentle but secure, her presence calming and grounding. Alara leaned into her embrace, clutching at Renata's arm as she fought to steady her breathing. The comfort of the vampire's arms, cool and reassuring, helped ease the crushing weight in her chest, and gradually, her heartbeat began to slow.

The Cullens and their allies watched this exchange with a mixture of confusion and curiosity. It was a strange sight, a member of the Volturi guard embracing a human so protectively, so carefully. It wasn't the image of ruthless predators they had come to expect from the Volturi, and it left them momentarily disarmed.

Aro, noticing the pause, seized the opportunity to speak. "As you can see," he said smoothly, gesturing subtly to Renata and Alara, "Alara's well-being is a priority for us. We do not bring her here lightly, nor would we place her in harm's way."

Edward's frown deepened, his gaze lingering on the way Renata held Alara protectively. "Still," he murmured, clearly torn, "it's hard for us to understand. A human, in the midst of… all this."

Caius's sharp voice cut through the air, bristling with impatience. "You understand it well enough, Edward Cullen. Bella was once in the same position, surrounded by vampires by her own choice. So what makes Alara's situation any different?" His words were blunt, a challenge meant to remind them of their own choices and past.

Carlisle met Caius's gaze, his expression softened by understanding. "Perhaps it isn't so different," he admitted, though the worry in his eyes remained. "But we want to be sure she's safe, regardless."

Renata's hold on Alara tightened slightly, as though silently reminding everyone present that Alara was indeed safe, surrounded by the strongest protection the Volturi had to offer.

Aro's eyes sparkled with a touch of mischief, a faint smile playing on his lips. "Perhaps you would like to meet her, Carlisle? To see her up close and personal, to satisfy yourself that she is truly well?" he suggested smoothly. "Considering you are a doctor, after all… surely you're more than capable of assessing the well-being of a human?"

Carlisle blinked, taken slightly aback, but then his face softened as he considered the offer. He nodded thoughtfully, his gentle gaze shifting to Alara, and with a few steady strides, he began crossing the field, closing the distance until he stood directly in front of the Volturi.

Renata's protective hold on Alara remained firm, and Marcus's hand in hers was a grounding comfort. But as Carlisle approached, his expression filled with warmth and understanding rather than suspicion, they began to loosen their hold. With a gentle nod from Alara, Renata released her arms from around her, and Marcus let her hand slip from his, though he stayed close.

Taking a deep breath, Alara slowly moved out of the security of her guards. Carlisle was tall, with a striking presence softened by kindness in his gaze. She offered him a small, nervous smile and extended her hand. He returned the smile with one of his own—so warm, genuine, and unexpectedly gorgeous that it made her cheeks flush. He grasped her hand in a firm but gentle handshake.

"Alara, it's wonderful to meet you," Carlisle said, his voice smooth and reassuring. "I can see you're in good hands here, but if there's anything I can do to help, please let me know."

Alara found herself momentarily speechless, her mind racing with thoughts that definitely weren't appropriate for a diplomatic standoff. A doctor, too? she thought, faintly amused by her own reaction. If I weren't already mated to these three, I'd climb this man like a tree.

Gathering herself, she managed to reply, "Thank you, Dr. Cullen. It's… it's good to meet you, too." She didn't pull her hand back right away, slightly entranced by the steady warmth he radiated, so different yet similar to the Volturi's reserved strength.

Carlisle's keen gaze took her in, assessing her health with a subtle doctor's instinct. "You seem well, and you're clearly cared for," he observed, his tone respectful. Then, he offered her another reassuring smile before glancing back at the kings. "She is safe, and I believe her word on that."

Aro's faint smile grew in satisfaction, while Caius allowed a single, approving nod. "Then I trust there's no further reason for concern, Carlisle?" Caius said, his tone carrying an edge of finality.

Carlisle gave a small, polite bow of acknowledgement. Alara stepped back and she instinctively reached out for Aro's hand, seeking his touch to steady her nerves. Aro's fingers wrapped around hers, and his eyes glinted with mischief as he caught a stray thought that had slipped through her mind. His quiet laugh was warm, filled with a knowing amusement that made her cheeks flush.

"Ah, cara mia," he murmured with a soft smile, his eyes sparkling. "Your mind is quite… entertaining."

She bit her lip, a hint of embarrassment colouring her cheeks, but Aro's smile remained tender, an unspoken reassurance that he found her endearing. With a gentle nod, he guided her back toward Marcus and Renata, allowing her to slip back into their protective presence, still holding onto the warmth of Aro's gentle amusement.

Aro, still smiling softly, turned his attention back to Carlisle, extending his hand in a graceful, deliberate gesture. "Ah, my dear friend," he said, his tone light but tinged with authority. "Let us put this wolf matter to rest, shall we?" The subtle invitation in his words left little room for refusal, and Carlisle stepped forward and placed his hand in Aro's.

The connection was immediate, a flood of thoughts and memories rushing into Aro's mind. He sifted through them with ease, his expression serene as he pieced together the truth. The wolves, these towering creatures of fur and ferocity, were not the fabled Children of the Moon but something entirely different. They were shapeshifters, guardians of the Quileute tribe, their existence tied to the ancient traditions of their people. Bound by loyalty and duty, they posed no threat to the Volturi or the masquerade that protected their kind.

Aro lowered Carlisle's hand gently, his crimson eyes glinting with understanding as he turned back to address his gathered coven. His voice, calm but commanding, carried across the meadow. "Dear ones, there is no danger here. These are not the Children of the Moon as we had feared. They are shapeshifters, protectors of their people, and they do not endanger the balance we strive to maintain."

His words rippled through the Volturi ranks, their collective tension beginning to ease as the truth settled over them. The wolves remained still, their massive forms braced but watchful, while the Cullens exchanged cautious glances, waiting to see if the Volturi's declaration would hold.

Aro's gaze swept over the meadow, his tone firm but with an edge of finality. "We will not fight today."

A ripple of murmurs passed through the Volturi ranks, the tightly wound tension easing as the guard relaxed. Aro's words lingered in the air, his assurance enough to defuse the volatile situation, and both sides began to lower their defences, the imminent threat fading into calm.

Caius, however, did not share his brother's measured response. His face twisted in irritation, his eyes narrowing as he absorbed this realisation. Aro offered him a slight shake of the head, a silent assurance that this was not the time for a fight. But Caius, his jaw clenched, turned to his guard and gestured sharply.

"Bring the informer forward," he commanded, his voice cold and cutting.

Irina was led forward, trembling but attempting to hold her head high. Her wary eyes flicked between the Volturi kings, filled with a conflicting mix of pride and fear, before shifting to the Cullen side and her own family. Alara's stomach churned as she watched, her nature picking up on the swirling emotions radiating from Irina: regret, defiance, shame. A sinking dread pressed heavily against her chest, making her hands clammy and her breaths shallow.

Alara's body tensed, instinctively retreating closer to Marcus as her anxiety surged. She gripped the fabric of his cloak tightly, her nails digging into it as if it were her lifeline. Her senses were overwhelmed by the oppressive weight of what was about to happen, though the exact outcome was still unknown to her.

"Are these the wolves you saw?" Caius asked, his tone dripping with contempt. "The Children of the Moon you claimed were here?"

Irina hesitated, her gaze darting to the wolves. The truth seemed to hit her all at once as she studied them closer, her confidence crumbling.

"I… I'm not sure," Irina stammered, her voice trembling.

"Jane." Caius's expression darkened, his lips curling into a sneer.

Her eyes widened as she realised the gravity of her mistake. These wolves, she could now see, were indeed different from the monsters she'd mistaken them for. Her confidence wavered, and shame began to overtake her expression, and her voice came out in a choked whisper.

"I… I was mistaken," she stammered, her face crumpling with regret. "I am so sorry. I thought… I thought they were the same."

Caius's eyes narrowed, his expression cold and unyielding. "Then your allegations were false." he said, his voice devoid of any compassion.

"Caius, no!" Edward called out.

Alara's heart stopped as Caius raised his hand, the swift motion signaling Irina's doom. Her breath hitched, and her fingers flew to her mouth, stifling a gasp. The guards moved in an instant, tearing Irina apart with brutal efficiency. The wet, sickening sounds of flesh ripping filled the air, and Alara winced, her body trembling violently. She wanted to turn away, to block out the horror, but she couldn't. She was frozen, her wide eyes locked on the scene, helpless against the flood of emotions that surged through her.

She felt it all—Irina's fleeting fear and regret, the sisters' shock and devastation, and even the cold, detached resolve of Caius. It crushed her, an unbearable weight pressing against her chest, and she clung desperately to Marcus's cloak, grounding herself in his cool, solid presence.

The finality of Caius lowering the torch into the pile of Irina's remains snapped Alara back into the present. The flames roared, consuming what was left, the flickering light casting eerie shadows across Caius's impassive face. His lack of emotion chilled her, her human mind struggling to reconcile his actions with any sense of justice.

A scream pierced the air, raw and filled with anguish—Kate's voice, a wail of heartbreak that shattered the silence. Tanya, equally devastated, clutched her chest, her face twisted with grief as she watched the fire consuming the remains of her sister. Alara's heart pounded faster, her body tensing as she watched the Denali sisters, fury and despair overtaking them. With a cry of rage, Kate broke free, her grief driving her forward in a desperate lunge toward Caius.

"Irina!" Tanya screamed lunging forward, her voice raw with agony.

But before Kate could get far, Garrett surged forward, grabbing her in a fierce hold, his arms wrapped tightly around her to restrain her. Kate thrashed against him, unleashing a surge of her electrical ability, sending shockwaves through Garrett's body. He grimaced in pain, but held on, refusing to release her as her anguished cries filled the meadow, mingling with Tanya's as they both strained to reach the smouldering remains of their sister.

"Blind them," Edward commanded, his voice cutting through the chaos.

In an instant, Zafrina raised her hand, her face focused and intent as she called upon her gift. An invisible wave of power surged forward, and suddenly, Kate stopped thrashing and Tanya halted, disoriented, their vision taken from them. They froze in place, their eyes wide and unseeing, the world around them plunged into darkness. Confused and unable to see, they stopped their advance, their sobs softening into heartbroken gasps as they struggled against the overwhelming disorientation.

Alara's fingers dug into Marcus's cloak, her breath catching as she instinctively recoiled, feeling the electricity in the air, sensing how close they all were to another confrontation.

Beside her, Renata tightened her protective hold, shielding Alara from any possible retaliation. Alara's heart hammered in her chest, her mind racing as she processed the swift, brutal execution and the mourning screams of the Denali sisters. She clung to Marcus, barely able to steady herself, overwhelmed by both the cruelty of Caius's justice and the raw, visceral grief it had unleashed.

Aro, with an air of solemn finality, looked toward the gathered covens, his expression grave yet unyielding. "This unfortunate outcome was not our intent," he announced, his voice calm but carrying the weight of his authority. "But we must uphold the rules that protect our kind."

He paused, his gaze sweeping over the assembled covens, allowing his words to sink in. "Let it be understood," he continued, a sharp edge creeping into his tone, "we do not take kindly to false accusations. Claims that threaten our peace, our very existence, will be met with the strictest consequence."

The Denali sisters' sobs reverberated through the meadow, and Alara felt their anguish as if it were her own. This wasn't just a display of power—it was a chilling reminder of the Volturi's ruthlessness. She clutched tighter to Marcus, her body tense, feeling the full impact of what it meant to stand beside the Volturi.

A murmur rippled through the crowd as Aro's words took hold, each coven fully aware of the weight behind his warning. His eyes settled briefly on the Denali sisters, the sting of Irina's error echoing in the silence. "Such accusations are not simply misunderstandings," Aro concluded, his voice low and resolute, "they are disruptions, and they endanger us all."

As the Volturi began to retreat, the meadow was left steeped in an oppressive silence, broken only by the gut-wrenching sobs of the Denali sisters. Alara lingered, her gaze drawn to the broken forms of Tanya and Kate as they clung to each other amidst the ashes of their sister. Their raw grief radiated outward, piercing her heart with its intensity. Alara's breath hitched, her chest tightening as she absorbed their pain, the overwhelming emotions pressing against her mind like waves on a fragile shore. She could almost feel their sorrow as if it were her own.

Her eyes flickered to the Cullens, their expressions sombre, etched with anger and sorrow. They held their ground, their postures rigid, but their faces betrayed their helplessness. Alara's empathetic nature latched onto their quiet grief, amplifying the turmoil already swirling within her. Her fingers curled tightly into Marcus' cloak, seeking an anchor in the midst of emotions that weren't entirely her own.

A single tear slipped down her cheek, unbidden, and then another, stark reminders of her humanity amidst the cold, unyielding justice she had just witnessed. To her human eyes, this was not justice—it was murder. The grief, the pain, the hopeless rage—it was unbearable. Her body trembled as she tried to reconcile the brutal reality of her new world with the empathetic heart that still clung to human ideals of compassion and fairness.

Marcus noticed her trembling and shifted slightly, his hand reaching for hers. His touch was steady, a silent promise of his presence, but it did little to quiet the storm within her. She was struggling—struggling to accept, struggling to breathe.

As they turned to leave, Alara's voice broke the heavy silence, soft and fragile, as though she were speaking more to herself than anyone around her. "Are we the bad guys?" The words were almost lost in the wind, but they lingered, heavy and loaded, settling uneasily over the group.

The question hung unanswered, and Alara didn't look up, her eyes fixed on the ground as her mind spiralled with doubt and confusion. The weight of her own question pressed heavily against her chest, the implications too overwhelming to process. Caius's jaw tightened, his expression hardening as though her words had struck a nerve, though he said nothing. His silence carried a tension that Alara felt deeply.

Aro, walking just a few steps ahead of her, paused mid-step. His eyes flicked toward her, glinting with an unreadable emotion as he took in her down turned face and trembling form. Without a word, he turned back and came to her side, his presence immediate and commanding yet unexpectedly tender. His hand rested gently on the small of her back, the cool weight of his touch steadying her.

"Cara mia," Aro murmured softly, his tone warm but measured, "you carry so much. Perhaps too much." He pressed just lightly, encouraging her to continue forward. His touch and words were meant to reassure her, to anchor her amidst the storm of emotions pulling her apart.

Marcus gave her hand a gentle squeeze, his grip grounding her even as his own grief-lined gaze remained distant. His unspoken support, his acknowledgement of her turmoil, was a comfort she clung to, even as it failed to dispel her unease.

Renata stepped closer, moving protectively behind Alara. She didn't speak, but her presence shielded Alara from the weight of the stares she felt pressing against her back—from the Cullens, the grieving Denali, the wolves. Alara bit her lip, trying to ground herself with Marcus's steady presence and the Aro’s guiding hand.

Her mind, however, was in turmoil, torn between the cold certainty of the Volturi and the fragile empathy that defined her humanity. She had seen too much, felt too much. The raw emotions of those around her clung to her like a second skin, and she couldn't shake them. She absorbed the sadness, the grief, the lingering fear, and it seeped into her core, leaving her heavy and weary.

As they walked, Alara glanced back over her shoulder, her gaze meeting the solemn, haunted eyes of the Cullens. She saw no accusation in their faces, only empathy, a silent acknowledgement of the humanity she was struggling to hold onto. Bella's gaze lingered on her, soft and understanding, as though she too had once stood at the same crossroads Alara now found herself at.

The distance between them grew, but the weight of the day clung to Alara like a shroud. Her empathy, her ability to absorb and feel the emotions of others, left her raw and exposed, and her mind struggled to make sense of her place in this world. Her heart ached with the weight of what she had witnessed and the quiet certainty that it wouldn't be the last time she would question her place among the Volturi.

Torn between the cold, unwavering loyalty of her mates and the fragile humanity she couldn't yet abandon, Alara walked forward with a heavy heart. And though their silent presences surrounded her—Aro's subtle hand on her back, Marcus's steady grip on her hand, Renata's shielding protective shadow—she couldn't quiet the gnawing question that echoed in her mind. Were they truly the bad guys? Or was this the price of loyalty in a world of power and blood?

Chapter Text

The library of Volterra, vast and echoing with the whispers of ancient pages, had become Alara's haven. For a newly turned vampire struggling with the crushing intensity of immortality, it offered something she desperately needed: a way to forget herself.

She hadn't intended to spend days in the same chair, but as soon as she'd cracked open her first book—The Count of Monte Cristo—it was like slipping into another dimension. One where time didn't matter, and the only thing that existed was the next page, and the next, and the next. By the time she finished, she'd barely blinked before reaching for another.

That had been five days ago.

Now, a series of meticulously organised piles surrounded her. To her left was the "Classics" pile—books like Pride and Prejudice and Wuthering Heights that she had read with gritted teeth. A sticky note stuck to the top read, "Boring AF. Don't get the appeal. People actually like this?" To her right was a significantly taller stack labelled "Fantasy Series I'd Read Again," while a smaller, shunned tower bore the damning title, "Fantasy Series I'd Never Touch Again." Scattered in between were various other piles: Modern Fiction, Ancient Texts, and a particularly intriguing stack titled "Books to Discuss with Aro." Another sticky note on that pile also read, "For debates (or lectures) with Mr. Infinite Patience." Not far from it sat a much smaller, far more ominous pile. The sticky note there was scrawled with an almost mischievous hand: "Books to throw at Caius."

It was Jane who found her first. At first, Jane had been mildly amused by the sight of Alara sitting so still, head bowed over a book as if the fate of the world depended on it. But after six days, curiosity turned to concern.

Jane approached cautiously, as if Alara were a particularly temperamental newborn ready to snap.

"Alara," she said, her voice sharp.

No response.

Jane rolled her eyes and took another step closer. "Alara, have you forgotten that the castle exists beyond this room? There's training, strategy sessions. You know, things vampires do?"

Alara turned a page. "Mhm," she muttered absently, her crimson eyes glued to the text.

Jane scowled and crossed her arms. "What are you even reading?"

"A Court of Thorns and Roses."

Jane blinked. "The faerie smut one?"

"Yes." Alara flipped another page. "It's riveting."

Jane's mouth opened to retort, but no words came. Finally, she muttered something about "wasting eternity" and stalked off.

Felix was next. He wandered in on the eighth day, looking thoroughly entertained by the chaos Alara had already caused within the castle.

"Hey, bookworm," he called, leaning against a shelf. "You know, we're starting to think you've petrified yourself. Should I fetch someone to polish you, or…?"

Alara didn't even look up. "Polishing is unnecessary," she said, absentmindedly reaching for a notebook where she'd begun jotting down notes on Lord of the Rings. "Do you think orcs represent industrialisation, or am I reading too much into it?"

Felix blinked. "Orcs represent what?"

"Industrialisation. Tolkien hated machines, right?"

"...Why would I know that?"

Alara sighed and flipped a page, muttering to herself about literary metaphors.

Felix tried another tactic. He sidled up to her. "How about a break? Or a tasty human snack?"

"Blood wouldn't pair up nicely with my current book, anyway" she replied, finally glancing up.

Felix stared at her. "Blood… doesn't pair with books?"

"Obviously," she said, as if explaining something to a child.

Felix left without another word, wondering if anyone else in the castle had the patience for this nonsense.

By the tenth day, Aro himself had decided to investigate. He entered the library with his usual grace, his black robes sweeping the floor as he surveyed the scene. What he found was equal parts amusing and baffling.

Alara sat cross-legged on the floor now, surrounded by new piles. One bore the title "Ancient Texts I Understand (Somehow)." Another, "Ancient Texts I Pretended to Understand but Totally Didn't." Next to her sat a book of Sumerian myths, its pages brimming with meticulously drawn translations and scattered notes.

"My dear," Aro said, his voice soft yet tinged with amusement. "What, pray tell, are you doing?"

Alara looked up briefly, as if only now realising he was there. "Sumerian," she said, holding up the book. "Did you know they didn't even have a word for 'freedom'? Like, how do you even live without that?"

Aro blinked, tilting his head in thought before a faint smile curved his lips. "And how, exactly, did you come to this conclusion?"

"Well, I've been going through the patterns." She gestured vaguely at the book, her tone casual but animated. "Their structure is so repetitive. You start to see how it works. Like here—'dumu' means child." She circled the word with a flourish in her notes.

"Ah, but you may be mistaken," Aro interjected gently. "The Sumerians did have a concept that could be interpreted as 'freedom.' The term amagi or ama-gi—depending on the context—often referred to liberation, particularly from debt bondage. It might not match the modern idea of freedom, but it existed nonetheless."

Alara froze, her hand poised above the page. "Wait—what?" she blurted, grabbing another pen and hastily scribbling it down. "How do you spell it? What's the context? How do you know that?"

Aro chuckled softly, stepping closer to peer at her notes. "Amagi begins with the sign for 'mother.' A fitting root, wouldn't you agree? Perhaps it symbolises a return to origins, to something pure."

Alara muttered to herself as she added the note, her handwriting quick and purposeful. "I can't believe I missed that. That's fascinating. So it's, like, a symbolic freedom, not absolute?"

"Precisely," Aro replied, his voice tinged with pride at her swift grasp of the nuance. "Though, I must ask—how long have you been working on this?"

She shrugged, barely glancing up. "A few hours. Maybe half a day?"

Aro arched an eyebrow, a faint smile playing on his lips. "Interesting. You've been in the library for ten days now, yet this is only a recent focus?"

Her hand froze mid-note, and she blinked up at him, her brow furrowing. "Ten days? That can't be right."

"Indeed, my dear. Time has a way of slipping by unnoticed when one is deeply engrossed."

"I thought it had only been a few hours…" Alara sat back, a look of mild disbelief crossing her face.

"Understandable," he replied smoothly, his smile deepening. "Though I would suggest, perhaps, attending to other priorities before you lose another ten days entirely."

She stared at the ceiling, ignoring his comment completely. "That explains why I finished the entirety of Percy Jackson without stopping."

"Fascinating," He murmured, his amusement deepening. "You've discovered a new way to pass eternity. But might I suggest moderation? Even we vampires cannot exist solely within fiction."

"Why not?" She gave him a blank look.

"Because, my dear, reality tends to demand attention."

"Reality," she muttered, wrinkling her nose. "Overrated."

He chuckled. "Be that as it may, do consider taking a walk. Or perhaps socialising. Your compatriots are… concerned."

"They'll be fine," Alara said, picking up her next book. "But if they want to join me, I've got a whole stack labelled Books I'd Recommend to Someone Who Annoys Me Slightly Less Than Caius."

By the time two weeks had passed, the library had become more than just Alara's retreat—it was her kingdom. Each stack of books was a monument to her conquests, and the sticky notes adorning them were her royal decrees. She was utterly absorbed in the fictional worlds she devoured, oblivious to everything around her.

The rest of the Volturi, however, were less enamoured with her literary escapades.

"Has anyone noticed she hasn't fed?" Heidi asked, brushing a lock of her shimmering hair over her shoulder. She had just returned from her latest 'excursion,' a dozen humans trailing behind her, unaware of their grim fate.

"She's a newborn," Caius snapped, pacing in frustration. "She should be ravenous. Instead, she's holed up in that infernal library reading... what was it this time? The Hunger Games? The irony is maddening."

"She probably thinks it's a self-help book." Felix chuckled.

Jane smirked, but Aro held up a hand to silence them all. His expression was thoughtful, his eyes narrowing in contemplation.

"It is concerning," Aro said finally, his voice measured. "Even the most disciplined of our kind cannot go this long without feeding. And yet she does so without apparent struggle." He glanced toward the library doors, where Alara remained firmly entrenched in her fictional haze. "If we cannot lure her out willingly, we may need... alternative methods."

"You're going to meddle, aren't you?" Marcus sighed softly.

Aro's lips curved into a small smile. "Of course."

Aro entered the library with the grace of a seasoned diplomat. Alara was seated on the floor again, this time surrounded by her "modern fiction" pile. She was halfway through A Discovery of Witches, her crimson eyes flicking rapidly over the pages.

"Alara, my dear," Aro began, his tone as warm as honey.

"Mhm," she murmured, not looking up.

He crouched beside her, his movements deliberate. "I believe you've set a rather unique precedent in our coven. Two weeks without feeding. Remarkable discipline, truly."

"Thanks," she said absently, flipping a page.

"But," he continued, undeterred, "even the strongest of us cannot sustain ourselves on fiction alone."

She finally looked up, her expression one of vague annoyance. "I'm fine."

Aro studied her intently, his sharp gaze taking in every detail. Her otherwise flawless skin had taken on a faint pallor, and there was a subtle tension in her frame, like a coiled spring. While she seemed functional, her body was undoubtedly craving sustenance, even if her mind, so wholly absorbed in her work, remained oblivious.

His eyes drifted to hers, noting their pitch-black hue—a telltale sign of starvation. Aro's lips pressed into a thoughtful line. She would not admit to her needs, not when consumed by such fervent focus, but her condition could not be ignored.

"I wonder," he said, his tone growing curious, "if you've considered the parallels between the novels you consume and your own existence. The drama, the passion, the... hunger."

Alara raised an eyebrow. "Are you trying to pitch feeding to me like it's a book? Because that's a hard pass."

Aro chuckled. "Not at all. Merely an observation. Though I do wonder if you'd find it more... palatable were it presented differently."

She gave him a sceptical look. "You're not going to dress it up as a metaphorical battle royale, are you?"

"Of course not," he said, feigning offence. "But I do think you might enjoy a... thematic approach."

At his signal, Heidi entered, leading her latest group of humans into the library. Alara's nose wrinkled slightly at the scent, but she didn't move, her attention already drifting back to her book.

Heidi glanced at Aro, uncertain. "This is your grand plan? Just... waft them under her nose?"

"Patience," Aro replied, his eyes never leaving Alara.

The humans, blissfully unaware of the palpable tension in the room, continued murmuring about the grandeur of the library. One, a young man with an earnest face, stepped closer to a shelf and pulled out a dusty tome.

"Oh, The Iliad," he remarked, flipping through the delicate pages with reverence. "Classic."

Alara's head snapped up, her eyes narrowing. "Classic? Seriously?" She set down her pen with a sharp click and leaned forward, her tone dripping with exasperation. "It's ancient fanfiction about a guy's crush on another guy and the catastrophic fallout of their personal drama. Let's not put it on a pedestal."

The young man froze mid-page, his face a mix of confusion and startled surprise. He looked up at her as if unsure whether she was joking or genuinely outraged. "Uh... okay?" he stammered.

"You take issue with Homer's work, my dear?" Aro asked, his voice soft and teasing, but with a note of curiosity. "Surely, a tale that has endured for millennia deserves some merit?"

Alara turned her sharp gaze on him, waving her hand dismissively. "Oh, it's not about merit, Aro. Sure, it's a cornerstone of Western literature, but let's be honest—this is just a long-winded rant about Achilles sulking because his boyfriend got slighted. It's petty."

The human, now unsure whether he was part of the conversation or merely witnessing something far beyond his comprehension, cleared his throat awkwardly. "I mean, it's more than that, isn't it? It's about war, heroism—"

"Heroism?" Alara interrupted, her tone incredulous. "It's about ego. Achilles basically says, 'You insult me, so I'm gonna let everyone die.' And then, when Patroclus dies, he's like, 'Oops, guess I'll fix it now.' The guy's a walking disaster."

The young man blinked. "Well, I—"

"And don't get me started on Helen," she added, cutting him off again. "Oh, poor Helen, the face that launched a thousand ships. No one ever asks her opinion, do they? She's just the scapegoat for everyone else's bad decisions."

Aro's smile grew, his amusement evident as he watched her rant with growing intensity. "Fascinating," he murmured, steepling his fingers. "You seem to view the text not as a grand epic but as... petty human drama?"

Alara folded her arms, her tone flat. "That's exactly what it is. Dress it up in flowery language all you want; it's still a soap opera for the ancient Greeks. Honestly, I'm surprised Zeus didn't pop down just to stir the pot."

The human gaped at her, completely at a loss for words. Aro chuckled softly, his dark eyes gleaming with delight. "Ah, my dear Alara, your perspective is as sharp as ever. Though I wonder—does your cynicism extend to all classics, or is it reserved solely for Homer?"

She shot him a look, her lips quirking into a wry smile. "Depends. Are you asking because you actually care, or because you're enjoying the show?"

Aro's laughter was quiet but unmistakable. "Perhaps a bit of both."

Jane stifled a snort from the doorway, while Caius groaned audibly.

It became clear to Aro that subtlety was not the solution. He knelt in front of Alara, gently but firmly closing the book that rested in her hands and placing it on the nearby table. She blinked at him, affronted.

"Hey!"

"My dear," he said, his tone firm but kind. "You are a part of this coven now, and with that comes certain responsibilities. Feeding is not optional, no matter how fascinating your books may be."

"I'm not even hungry." She frowned, crossing her arms.

"You are," Aro corrected gently. "You simply don't notice because you've buried yourself in these stories."

"I'm fine," she insisted.

Aro sighed, motioning to Felix. With a single, fluid motion, Felix plucked her up from the floor and carried her toward the waiting humans.

"Put me down!" she protested, kicking her legs.

"Sorry, Alara," Felix said cheerfully. "Orders are orders."

Aro watched as Alara was placed in front of the humans, her crimson eyes darting toward them with reluctant interest. He stepped closer, his voice soft. "Feed, Alara. You may not realise it yet, but you need this."

Alara stood stubbornly in front of the humans, arms crossed tightly over her chest, glaring daggers at Aro. Her crimson eyes flickered toward the mortals, their scent tantalising, but her focus remained unwavering.

"I don't care how hungry you think I am," she snapped. "I'm not eating them. This is ridiculous."

"She's got quite the willpower, doesn't she?" Demetri leaned against a nearby wall, watching the scene unfold with an amused smirk.

Aro's expression remained calm, though a flicker of frustration danced behind his eyes. "Alara, this is not about denying you your books. This is about survival."

"Well, maybe my survival depends on finishing this," she shot back, snatching her book from where Aro had set it. She held it up as if it were a shield.

Aro pinched the bridge of his nose. "My dear, you are missing the point entirely."

"No," she said, flipping the book open dramatically. "You're missing the point. You dragged me away from my notes for this? I was mid-thought! I had just started connecting the themes from the—"

"Enough!" Aro's voice, though still soft, carried an edge that silenced even Felix's chuckle. He stepped closer to her, his presence imposing. "I have given you the patience you demand, and yet you refuse the simplest of requests. I will not have you deteriorate out of stubbornness."

Alara raised an eyebrow, unphased. "I'm not deteriorating. I'm functioning perfectly fine. If anything, I'm thriving. You know, mentally." She tapped her temple with the spine of the book.

"Thriving?" Aro repeated, his tone growing colder. "You are starving, Alara."

"And yet, here I stand, perfectly capable of holding an intellectual debate on Homer's work," she said with a smirk, turning a page. "So clearly, I'm fine."

Aro exhaled slowly, his patience thinning. "If you will not feed willingly, I will ensure you are given no choice. Felix—"

"Nope!" Alara interrupted, darting away from both men before Felix could grab her again. "Try and catch me, and I'll quote The Odyssey for hours until you beg me to stop. Hours, Aro. No wait! Days, weeks, months!" she practically cackled.

Felix hesitated, glancing at Aro for direction, but the leader simply held up a hand, his expression unreadable.

"Let her go," Aro said, his voice low.

"What?" Felix asked, incredulous.

"She will come to her senses on her own," Aro continued, watching Alara retreat to the corner of the room, already absorbed in her book once more. "For now, let her believe she has won."

Felix raised an eyebrow. "You think that's going to work?"

"It's not about winning or losing," Aro said, his gaze softening as it rested on Alara. "She is stubborn, but hunger is stronger. When she is ready, she will feed."

From her corner, Alara flipped a page noisily. "I can hear you, you know. And for the record? I'm always ready for a battle of wits."

Aro sighed deeply, his patience being tested in ways he had not expected. "So it seems."

Thirty-five days had passed.

Alara had not fed, not once, in all that time. Instead, she had entrenched herself in the library, a fortress of fiction constructed around her, impervious to the needs of sustenance—or, indeed, the demands of her fellow vampires.

The Volturi were at their wits' end. Attempts to coax her out, to appeal to her reason, or even to physically remove her had all failed spectacularly. Alara was simply gone, not in body but in spirit, absorbed so fully into her books that reality might as well have been another world entirely.

The breaking point came when Aro, in a moment of desperation, ordered a human locked in the library with her. The theory—if one could call it that—was that constant proximity to fresh blood might stir Alara's instincts, snapping her out of her haze.

Instead, it merely tested her patience.

"Please!" the human sobbed, pounding on the locked door. "Let me out! Somebody help me!"

Alara, seated cross-legged on the floor with her back to the commotion, sighed loudly and turned another page in Frankenstein.

"Do you mind?" she called over her shoulder, her tone exasperated. "I'm trying to immerse myself in the tragic plight of Victor and his creation."

The human froze, his hands pressed against the heavy wooden door. "What? What does that even mean? Please, you have to let me go! I'm begging you!"

She tapped her chin with her finger, seemingly oblivious to his desperation. "You know," she said, tilting her head toward the book, "you remind me of the creature. All this crying and begging for someone to save you. It's a bit melodramatic, don't you think?"

"What?" the man stammered, his voice cracking. "I'm nothing like—like that thing!"

She turned slightly, finally sparing him a glance. "Oh, I disagree. Both of you keep railing against your fate, hoping someone will come along and fix it. Victor abandoned his creation. Aro locked you in here. Both of you screaming at doors that aren't going to open anytime soon."

The man stared at her, dumbfounded. "I'm a person! I didn't ask to be here!"

"Neither did the creature," she said, raising an eyebrow as if that explained everything. "Yet here you both are, lamenting your existence instead of adapting. It's fascinating, really." She flipped another page, her attention already drifting back to the text.

"You're insane!" the man shouted, his voice trembling with fear. "This isn't a book! This is my life!"

Alara made a noncommittal hum. "Life, fiction... it's all perspective. Do you know what happened to the creature in the end?"

He shook his head slowly, not trusting her sudden calm.

"He burned himself alive," she said matter-of-factly, her tone casual, as though discussing the weather. "Sometimes, the only way to escape tragedy is to embrace it fully." She paused, a faint smirk tugging at her lips. "But I suppose you're not quite there yet, are you?"

The man's jaw dropped, and he pressed harder against the door, his fists pounding with renewed desperation. "Please! Somebody help me!"

Alara sighed again, turning back to her book. "So predictable. At least the creature had a poetic flair to his suffering."

Behind her, the man continued his futile attempts at escape, his panic filling the room like static. Alara's crimson eyes flickered briefly toward him, annoyance flashing across her face.

"Could you at least cry quietly?" she muttered. "I'm trying to enjoy the finer points of literary despair."

When Aro returned a couple days later, he found the human cowering in a corner and Alara immersed in yet another book. "Well," he said, surveying the scene. "That was... anticlimactic."

She looked up briefly, her expression annoyed. "Can you get him out of here? They're distracting."

Aro blinked. "Alara, you're supposed to drink them."

"Why?" she asked, as if the idea was absurd. "I'm fine. They're just ruining the vibe."

After the failed human-lock-in incident, Aro resorted to a more creative approach. If Alara couldn't be coaxed to feed through logic or instinct, perhaps her beloved books would provide the answer.

And so began The Great Book Experiment.

Aro scoured the library for every genre imaginable, carefully selecting novels he hoped would subtly lead Alara to reconsider her stance on feeding.

The first attempt: Vampire Fiction.

Alara raised an unimpressed eyebrow as Aro handed her Dracula.

"Seriously?" she said, flipping through the pages. "Vampires who can't go out in the sun and sleep in coffins? Talk about false advertising."

Unperturbed, Aro offered Carmilla next.

She skimmed a few lines, then looked up with a smirk. "A vampire seductress? Really, Aro? I don't need a gothic romance to tell me I could charm someone if I wanted to. This is practically an ego boost, not an argument."

Aro tilted his head slightly, a faint smile playing on his lips. "You're dismissing the subtleties. Carmilla is as much about hunger as it is about love."

"Oh, I got the subtext," Alara said, tossing the book onto a nearby table. "But if you think I'm going to swoon my way into feeding, you're going to need better material."

Next came Horror.

Aro placed Salem's Lot before her with the air of someone delivering a challenge. "Perhaps this will appeal to your darker sensibilities—"

"Nope," Alara cut him off, not even glancing up from her current book. "Already skimmed it last week. The pacing's weird. And the ending? Don't get me started."

Aro's brows furrowed as he plucked the book back, setting it aside with measured patience. "I see. Perhaps something… more cerebral?" He retrieved a worn copy of At the Mountains of Madness by H.P. Lovecraft and handed it to her.

Alara flipped through the first few pages, her expression unimpressed. "This is just about old guys losing their minds in the snow," she muttered, though her tone softened slightly as she lingered on a particular passage. "The monsters are cool, though. I'll give you that."

"Ah, so there's something you appreciate here, at least." Aro's lips curved into a faint smile.

"Not enough to feed," she quipped, snapping the book shut and handing it back to him. "Honestly, you should've started with the monsters. Could've skipped the fifty pages of dudes complaining about the cold."

"Tough critic." Felix, leaning casually against a nearby bookshelf, snorted.

"She's impossible," Aro muttered under his breath, though his tone carried more amusement than irritation.

"Oh, please," Alara said, finally looking up with a mischievous glint in her eyes. "You're the one trying to bribe me into eating with books. Who's really the impossible one here?"

Felix chuckled. "She's got a point."

Aro shot Felix a sharp look before turning his attention back to Alara. "I simply hoped you might find a parallel between the narratives of hunger and survival and your own… predicament."

Alara arched an eyebrow, leaning back in her chair. "If I wanted a parallel, I'd write one myself. That'd probably make more sense than forcing metaphors out of this stuff." She gestured to the stack of rejected books on the table.

"Then perhaps you should. It may prove more enlightening than you realise." Aro's expression flickered with the briefest hint of defeat, but his voice remained even.

Alara smirked, flipping a page in her current read. "Nice try, Aro. Now, go away, I'm reading."

"If nothing else, this experiment's been entertaining." Felix grinned.

"For you, maybe," Aro replied dryly, stepping back to reassess his strategy.

Then came Ancient Texts.

"I thought you might enjoy these," Aro said, placing a carefully curated stack of philosophical and mythological works before her.

To his mild surprise, Alara seemed intrigued. She spent hours poring over The Epic of Gilgamesh, The Bhagavad Gita, and even fragments of Norse sagas. The metaphorical weight of mortality, the struggle for purpose, and the tension between fate and free will seemed almost tailored to her predicament.

When Aro returned to check on her, she was surrounded by notes and diagrams, muttering to herself about the parallels between divine intervention and human folly. Pages were covered in scribbled translations, flowcharts connecting gods to mortals, and annotations questioning the cyclical nature of suffering.

"Have you considered feeding yet?" Aro asked, his tone light but probing.

She looked up, visibly irritated, her pen pausing mid-sentence. "Can't you see I'm busy deciphering the ethical implications of Arjuna's dilemma in The Bhagavad Gita? Priorities, Aro."

He tilted his head, his expression thoughtful. "And yet, Arjuna was urged to fulfil his duty, to fight despite his reluctance. Perhaps there's something to be learned from that."

Alara narrowed her eyes at him, clearly unimpressed. "You're trying to equate feeding with dharma now? That's a stretch, even for you."

"Not at all," he replied smoothly. "Your refusal is admirable in its principle, but are you not denying your own nature, just as Arjuna initially did? Balance must be maintained."

She leaned back in her chair, tapping her pen against the table. "Interesting argument, but I'm not buying it. Arjuna was trying to avoid killing family. I'm just trying to read in peace without being guilt-tripped."

Aro smiled faintly, as though pleased by her resistance. "And yet, here you are, surrounded by texts that all lead to one undeniable truth: survival requires action. No one escapes it, Alara, not even you."

"Philosophising doesn't make me hungrier," she said dryly, returning to her notes. "But thanks for the attempt."

"Ah, but I think it does," Aro murmured, watching her thoughtfully. He stepped back, leaving her to her books, though he couldn't help but notice how her eyes lingered briefly on the stack of texts, as though she too recognised the threads he had woven into her reading.

Finally, in desperation, he resorted to Modern Thrillers.

"Try this," he said, handing her a pristine copy of Gone Girl.

Alara gave him a sceptical look but opened the book anyway. For a while, there was silence except for the faint rustle of pages. Aro watched with mild hope as her expression shifted from curiosity to faint amusement and finally to disinterest.

She snapped the book shut and tossed it onto a nearby pile labelled "Drama" in her tidy handwriting. "10/10 for the twist," she said, folding her arms, "but no one in this book eats, so why should I?"

Aro sighed, his patience hanging by a thread. "It's not about literal eating, Alara. It's about the hunger for control, survival, and—"

"Oh, please." She waved him off. "It's about two people out-crazying each other. If anything, it's a reminder that humans are exhausting. Why would I want to add that to my diet?"

"She's got you there, boss!" Felix, who had been eavesdropping from the next room, let out a loud laugh.

Aro shot him a sharp look before returning his attention to Alara. "You're deliberately missing the point."

"No," she said with a smirk, picking up another book from her growing "To Be Read" pile. "Maybe if you handed me something where the characters actually deal with their hunger, I'd consider it."

"Fine," Aro said, his tone growing colder. "Perhaps a survival thriller next, then. The Road, perhaps?"

"Dystopian cannibalism? Gross." She grimaced, turning another page in her current read. "But hey, keep trying. It's cute."

Felix leaned into the room with a grin. "What's next, Aro? A cookbook?"

Alara didn't even look up. "Might as well. At least then I'd get something useful out of it."

Aro was out of ideas. The others were losing patience, and Caius had threatened to throw every book in the library into the fire if it meant getting Alara to feed.

Finally, Aro approached her with what he hoped would be his coup de grâce: The Vampire Chronicles by Anne Rice.

"Alara," he said softly, holding out the book. "This is my final offering. Please, for your own sake, consider it."

She took the book, flipping through the first chapter. Her crimson eyes narrowed as she read.

"Okay," she said slowly. "This Lestat guy? He's kind of a mood."

Aro felt a flicker of hope. "Indeed. Perhaps he will inspire you."

She read a few more pages before closing the book with a decisive thud. "Nope. Too melodramatic."

"Alara, you cannot avoid feeding forever. Even with your stubbornness, your body will give out eventually." Aro sighed, rubbing his temples.

"I'll be fine," she insisted, picking up another book. "Anyway, if I do drop dead, at least I'll die in the middle of a good story."

Later that evening, Aro sat in his study, pondering the enigma that was Alara. She had defied every expectation, every instinct. And yet, he couldn't bring himself to force her to feed. There was something almost admirable—if utterly exasperating—about her resolve.

"Perhaps," he murmured to himself, "it's not hunger that will drive her. Perhaps she needs a story... worth living for."

And with that, Aro began planning his next, most ambitious move yet. One that might just pull Alara out of her fictional haze—or doom them all trying.

Aro's epiphany led him to concoct a plan more intricate than any the Volturi had executed in centuries. It wasn't enough to present Alara with the idea of feeding—she needed to feel the stakes. If fiction had absorbed her so completely, then perhaps a story, crafted just for her, could be the key to unlocking her instincts.

The first step in Aro's plan was enlisting the Volturi. Though the ancient vampires rarely indulged in theatrics beyond the political realm, Aro's insistence—and their growing frustration with Alara—convinced them to cooperate.

"This is ridiculous," Caius growled as he adjusted the billowing black cloak Aro had forced upon him. "We're vampires, not actors."

"Think of it as a performance of power," Aro said smoothly, a glint of amusement in his eyes. "You excel at being dramatic, dear brother."

Caius glared but said nothing, his pride outweighing his irritation.

Jane, Alec, and Felix were tasked with creating an atmosphere. Fog machines—because why not—were hidden in the corners of the library, and dim, flickering lanterns replaced the usual lighting. Heidi was stationed with a human, her role to bait Alara at the climax of the story.

"Are we seriously staging a vampire intervention fanfiction for her?" Jane asked, folding her arms.

"Yes," Aro replied, his tone serene. "And we will make it compelling."

It began with Felix throwing open the grand doors to the library, his booming voice cutting through Alara's peaceful bubble.

"ALARA!" he bellowed, stepping dramatically into the room. His cape fluttered behind him as if caught in an invisible wind. "Your presence is demanded."

Alara didn't even look up from her current read, The Martian. "Cool. Come back in a hundred pages."

Jane appeared next, her crimson eyes glowing ominously as she strode forward. "You've been chosen," she said, her voice low and menacing. "For a mission."

"Unless the mission is figuring out how Watney grows potatoes, I'm out," Alara replied, turning a page.

"Why do I even bother?" Alec sighed audibly from the corner, his fog creeping along the floor in perfectly rehearsed tendrils.

Felix leaned closer to Alara, trying a more direct approach. "The fate of Volterra depends on your involvement."

"I think you guys are doing fine without me," she said absentmindedly, reaching for her sticky notes. "Also, your fog machine is obvious. Subtlety, people."

Realising the others were failing, Aro stepped into the library with his usual elegance, his voice silencing the room like the toll of a bell.

"Alara," he said, his tone soft but commanding. "I would not ask this of you if it weren't important."

She glanced up briefly. "Is this another ploy to get me to feed? Because if it is, I'm seriously considering reading in the dungeons."

Aro stepped closer, kneeling slightly to meet her eye level. "This is no mere ploy," he said, his expression sombre. "A threat has arisen—one that even your books cannot explain."

That got her attention. She tilted her head, curious. "What kind of threat?"

Aro motioned to Heidi, who stepped forward with a trembling human in tow. The man's terror was palpable, his heartbeat a frantic drumbeat that even Alara couldn't completely ignore.

"This human," Aro said, his voice dropping to a whisper, "holds secrets that could destroy us all. Secrets locked in his blood."

"His blood? Really? That's the plot twist?" Alara raised an eyebrow.

"She's mocking the story. She's MOCKING the story!" Felix groaned audibly from the corner.

"I told you this wouldn't work." Jane said, rolling her eyes.

Aro remained calm, his gaze never leaving Alara. "Do you not see the beauty of it, my dear? This human is not merely prey—he is the key to our survival. And you, Alara, are the only one who can unlock his secrets."

Alara closed her book with a sigh, finally giving the human a proper look. The man, tears streaming down his face, met her gaze with a desperate plea.

"Please," he whispered. "Don't do this."

Her lips twitched, as if she were considering something. Finally, she spoke.

"Yeah, no. I'm good," she said, reaching for another book. "But good effort. A for creativity."

The Volturi library was eerily silent, save for the occasional scrape of a page turning. Alara sat perched on the edge of her seat, her entire body tense with anticipation as she read. The book—an epic fantasy laced with political intrigue and impossible stakes—had consumed her for the past several hours. Every twist and turn left her breathless, her mind entirely absorbed by the fictional world.

She barely noticed Aro entering the room.

He observed her for a moment, his keen eyes taking in the slight tremble of her hands as they gripped the edges of the book. Her crimson eyes darted across the page, hungry for the next revelation. Despite the undeniable pull of her instincts, her thirst for blood was entirely overshadowed by her thirst for answers.

"Alara," Aro said gently, stepping closer.

No response.

"Alara," he tried again, his voice a touch firmer.

She didn't even flinch, utterly consumed by the book in her hands.

Aro sighed. He had been patient—exceedingly so. But five weeks without feeding was unsustainable, even for a newborn. If she refused to listen, he would have to take drastic measures.

With vampiric speed, Aro darted forward, snatching the book from her hands before she could react.

"HEY!" Alara screamed, leaping to her feet. "What the hell do you think you're doing?!"

Aro, book in hand, offered her a calm smile. "I believe it's time for you to prioritise reality over fiction."

She lunged for the book, but Aro was already moving, his black robes billowing behind him as he dashed toward the library doors. "Give it back!" she shouted, her voice echoing off the ancient stone walls.

"Feed first," he called over his shoulder, his tone maddeningly composed. "Then you may have it."

Her growl was pure fury as she raced after him, her newborn speed turning the chase into a blur of movement. Aro, however, had centuries of experience, and he used it to his full advantage, darting around corners and weaving through corridors with practised ease.

"You are unbelievable!" Alara bellowed, nearly crashing into a pillar as she pursued him. "I was right in the middle of the best part!"

"That, my dear, is precisely the point," Aro replied, glancing back with a smug smile. "You've grown so absorbed in fiction that you've neglected your own survival."

"I'm surviving just fine without you meddling!"

"Are you?" he countered, vanishing around another corner. "Because I doubt even the most thrilling of tales can replace blood in your veins."

Alara snarled, her instincts kicking into overdrive. Her hunger made her faster, more desperate, and she closed the gap between them in a matter of seconds. She lunged again, her fingertips grazing the book's spine before Aro veered sharply to the left, laughing softly.

"Shut up and give me the damn book!" she snapped, her voice echoing through the marble halls.

Their chase spilled into the throne room, where the rest of the Volturi observed the spectacle with varying degrees of amusement. Felix, lounging against a column, let out a low chuckle. "Well, this is new. Aro on the run?"

"This is more entertaining than anything in the library." Jane stood nearby, her arms crossed and her smirk razor-sharp.

Aro came to a graceful stop in the centre of the room, holding the book aloft like a prized trophy. Alara skidded to a halt a few feet away, her crimson eyes blazing with fury. Her fangs glinted as she advanced, her posture tense and predatory.

The throne room, always a scene of sombre elegance, now buzzed with palpable tension. Hooded Volturi guards stood motionless along the room's edges, their presence dark and foreboding. In the centre, Heidi's latest haul of humans whimpered and clung to one another, their sobs and whispers bouncing off the ancient stone walls.

But Alara paid them no mind.

Aro's expression was infuriatingly calm, a faint smile tugging at his lips as he watched her with the air of a chess master who had just cornered his opponent.

"Give it back," Alara growled, her crimson eyes blazing with fury as she advanced on him. "You have no idea what you've just done."

"I beg to differ," Aro said smoothly, taking a small step back, his black robes trailing behind him. "Over a month without feeding, my dear, is unacceptable. If this is what it takes to remind you of your priorities, then so be it."

One of the humans sobbed loudly, clutching at the hem of another's shirt. "Please!" they cried, their voice cracking. "Don't let them hurt us! Somebody, please!"

Alara paused mid-step, throwing a sharp glance toward the group. Her irritation flared hotter. "Oh, for fuck's sake," she snapped, gesturing toward them. "Can you not? I'm in the middle of something far more important."

The humans stifled their cries slightly, though a few continued to whimper. One dared to speak up again, their voice shaking. "We'll do anything—just don't—"

"I said shut up!" Alara barked, her voice echoing off the walls. She gestured dramatically toward Aro. "Can't you see I'm dealing with a thief?"

"A thief? That's what we're calling it now?" Felix let out a low chuckle.

"She's not wrong," Jane murmured, her crimson eyes glinting with amusement. "He did steal her book."

"A thief, am I? How dramatic, my dear." Aro raised an eyebrow, tilting his head slightly.

"You stole from me," Alara shot back, her fangs glinting as she spoke. "Right in the middle of the best chapter, no less!"

"And you've stolen time," Aro countered, his voice soft but firm. "Time you could have spent feeding, maintaining your strength. Instead, you've buried yourself in fiction, ignoring your own nature."

One of the humans sobbed again, breaking the moment. "Please… just let us go…"

Alara whipped her head around to glare at them. "I'm dealing with a literal crime here, and you're making it about you? Really? Read the room."

The humans fell silent, their eyes wide with terror.

"You're deflecting, Alara. Your hunger is clouding your focus, no matter how much you fight it." Aro, watching her reaction, chuckled softly.

She snapped back to him, her voice low and venomous. "I'm not deflecting. I'm prioritising. First: get my book. Second: shove it down your throat."

He stepped back again, holding the book just out of reach. "Feed first, and then, perhaps, we can discuss the terms of its return."

"You know I can just get another copy, right? You're not exactly holding me hostage here." Alara rolled her eyes, crossing her arms.

His smile deepened, his tone taking on a note of playful cunning. "Perhaps. But this particular copy is yours, is it not? With all your little notes and highlights? Surely that makes it irreplaceable."

Alara raised an unimpressed eyebrow, crossing her arms. "Aro, I have perfect memory now. I can just copy it into a new book."

For a split second, the flicker of amusement in Aro's eyes faltered, though his composed expression remained intact. "Ah," he said, his tone still light. "But can you replicate the experience? The very essence of a book held in your hands, the familiarity of the pages you turned with such fervour?"

Alara's lips curled into a sly smile as she leaned forward, matching Aro's intensity with her own mock theatrics. "Oh, the essence of a book, Aro? The familiarity of its pages, the tangible joy of its weight in my hands? Surely you don't think I'm so easily swayed by sentimentality. Why, with my immortal grace, I could make any copy feel like the original."

Felix let out a loud snort of laughter from the sidelines, unable to contain himself.

"Rare to see someone turn Aro's theatrics back on him." Alec smirked under his hood.

Aro turned his head slightly, shooting them a look that silenced Felix's chuckle but did nothing to dim Alec's smirk. He straightened, his grip tightening slightly on the book. "Perhaps you can replace the physical form of the book," he conceded. "But what of the triumph of reclaiming what is yours? That satisfaction cannot simply be… duplicated."

Alara threw her hands up in exasperation, her tone dripping with sarcasm. "Wow, Aro, didn't know you moonlighted as a self-help guru. What's next? A seminar on the art of letting go? Just give me the book."

"Feed first," he said simply, his calm tone maddeningly resolute.

Her eyes narrowed, and she stalked closer, her irritation giving way to something more predatory. "You know, if I really wanted to, I could just take it back. I'm a newborn, Aro. I'm faster than you. Stronger than you. And I'm this close to snapping."

He didn't flinch, his smile remaining firmly in place. "You might succeed, my dear. But consider this: do you truly wish to damage what you hold so dear in your pursuit of it?"

Alara froze, her eyes narrowing as Aro's words lingered in the air. His calm, calculated challenge didn't intimidate her—it annoyed her. Deeply. Her grip on her frustration tightened, and for a moment, her mind wandered to The Final Empire by Brandon Sanderson—when Kelsier had knowingly sacrificed something precious for the greater good. Collateral damage, she thought, sometimes it's worth it.

Her lips pressed into a tight line before she let out a sharp exhale, snapping herself out of her reverie. "Collateral damage," she muttered under her breath, her tone laced with sarcasm. "I've read enough to know it's worth it if it gets the job done."

"Oh?" Aro's eyebrow arched, his amusement flickering as he leaned slightly forward. "And what exactly is your calculation here, my dear?"

Her eyes locked onto the book in his hands, the predatory gleam in her expression sharpening. "Once again, Aro, I can get another copy. I'm immortal. I've got time. What I don't have," she said, her voice rising, "is the patience to deal with this nonsense any longer. If a little damage is what it takes to get my book now—and to teach you not to mess with me—then yeah, I'm prepared to make that sacrifice."

Aro tilted his head, his smile shifting from amused to intrigued as he measured her resolve. "So you'd risk damaging what you claim to treasure most, all for the sake of a lesson?"

Her smirk was sharp and decisive, her confidence unwavering. "Yes. Because while I can replace the book, I can't replace the satisfaction of wiping that smug look off your face. Sacrifices must be made, Aro. Are you ready to see how far I'm willing to go?"

The tension hung in the air as she took another deliberate step forward, her fangs just barely visible. For a moment, even Aro seemed to falter—just slightly—his fingers tightening around the book's spine.

"If I might suggest," she added, her tone cutting, "you hand it over before collateral damage starts with your robes and works its way up to your pretty smug face."

"You think I'm pretty?" Aro's lips curled into a mischievous smile, his eyes glinting with amusement.

Alara let out a groan, dragging her hand down her face. "Oh, for crying out loud, really? That's what you're focusing on?"

Aro stepped closer, his composure unshaken, the book still firmly in his grasp. "Well, it's not often I receive such… colourful feedback," he mused, his tone teasing yet refined. "And from you, no less. Truly, it's a compliment worth cherishing."

Her exasperation deepened, her glare sharpening. "I swear, Aro, if you don't hand over that book in the next three seconds, I will make you less pretty. Permanently."

Aro chuckled, a deep, amused sound that echoed through the throne room, his expression one of indulgent amusement. "Such eloquent points, my dear. Truly, you do have a way with threats."

"Are you giving it back?" Alara stopped short, her body coiled like a spring.

"Not yet," Aro replied with maddening calm, his sly smile daring her to act. "But I must say, your resolve is truly commendable."

Her hands clenched into fists, trembling with frustration. The hunger gnawed at her insides, but it was nothing compared to the sheer rage bubbling beneath her skin. She could handle her thirst. She could handle the melodrama of the Volturi. But this—this taunting thief standing between her and her precious book—was too much.

Her growl rumbled through the room, low and dangerous, making the humans huddle closer together. Felix leaned toward Jane, his smirk widening. "She's about to pull a Kelsier herself."

Jane arched an eyebrow, her tone dripping with amusement. "Good. That dust jacket's as good as gone."

Aro tilted his head slightly, watching Alara with the composure of a predator certain of its victory. "Surely, my dear, you're not considering damaging something so dear to you in a fit of temper?"

"You want to see what I'm considering, Aro?" she snapped, her voice sharp and venomous. "Let me show you."

In the blink of an eye, Alara surged forward, her newborn speed and rage making her an unstoppable force. Before Aro could fully register her intent, her fist collided with his chest, sending him flying backward into one of the grand marble columns. The impact cracked the stone, fragments scattering across the floor.

Aro steadied himself, brushing at his robes, though a faint flicker of surprise crossed his features. "Impressive," he murmured. "You've certainly grown into your strength."

But Alara wasn't in the mood for compliments. She stormed toward him, her crimson eyes blazing. "Give. Me. My. Book."

Before Aro could respond, she grabbed him by the arm and hurled him across the room. He collided with an ornate table, splintering it into pieces. Books and scrolls toppled to the ground, and one particularly ancient text landed dangerously close to a smouldering torch.

"Watch the manuscripts!" Caius called from the sidelines, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "They're older than you are, Alara."

"Caius," Marcus said evenly, though his lips twitched faintly with amusement. "Perhaps this isn't the time."

"It's exactly the time," Caius retorted, smirking as Alara spun around to glare at him. "This is the most entertainment we've had in centuries."

Meanwhile, Aro had recovered, adjusting his posture with an air of calm that was quickly becoming strained. "Alara," he began, his voice patient but firm. "This outburst is unbecoming—"

"Oh, I'll show you unbecoming!" she snarled, grabbing one of the ornate chairs and hurling it toward him. Aro dodged gracefully, the chair smashing into the throne behind him. The resounding crash echoed through the room.

"This is better than the last century's entertainment, honestly. Keep going, Alara!" Felix leaned casually against a nearby wall, chuckling.

Marcus sighed, stepping slightly closer. "Calm yourselves," he said, his tone soft but insistent. "This is hardly productive."

Aro dodged another attack, his speed barely keeping up with Alara's relentless ferocity. "Alara, my dear," he said, ducking as a vase shattered against the wall behind him, "if you keep this up, you'll leave the throne room in ruins—and I doubt your book will survive the chaos!"

"That's the point!" she yelled, her voice fierce as she launched herself at him. Her hands closed around his robes, and with a sharp twist, she hurled him across the room. "Better to act and risk losing everything than to stand idle and let defeat consume me. Or didn't you learn anything from The Myth of Sisyphus?" She stalked closer, her crimson eyes blazing. "I'd rather fight and fail than surrender to futility."

Caius's smirk turned into a full-blown grin as he watched Alara stalk toward Aro, her words echoing through the throne room like a theatrical declaration. "The Myth of Sisyphus? Really?" he drawled, relaxing casually on his throne. "I never thought I'd see the day when philosophy was wielded as a weapon. Though I suppose, if anyone could turn existential dread into a battle cry, it's her."

"She isn't wrong," Marcus said quietly, his expression usually unreadable, his tone contemplative. "Action, even in the face of futility, carries its own meaning. There's strength in refusing to yield."

"Oh, wonderful. Now you're encouraging her. Next, she'll be quoting Nietzsche as she tears the room apart." Caius, observing the escalating chaos.

Marcus's sharp gaze cut to Caius, his voice calm but firm. "Better she fights with reason than blind rage. Perhaps you could learn something from her resolve."

"Spare me the lecture, Marcus. The only lesson here is that Aro's lost control." Caius narrowed his eyes at Marcus, clearly displeased by the jab.

Marcus ignored Caius, his gaze drifting back to Alara, who stood amidst the chaos with fiery determination. "She's driven by more than hunger or pride," he murmured, almost to himself. "She fights for her sense of self, even if it's over something as small as a book. That kind of will… it's rare."

"Rare or ridiculous? The line's getting pretty thin." Caius snorted.

"Rare." Marcus's gaze didn't waver.

Alara, now surrounded by the debris of her rampage, glared at Aro, her chest heaving unnecessarily. "Had enough yet?" she spat, her fingers twitching with barely restrained fury.

"Are you ready to end this, my dear?" Aro straightened, his usual grace returning as he held up the book. his voice soft but insistent. "Or shall we continue this delightful chaos?"

Alara's answer was immediate and decisive: chaos.

With a furious snarl, she launched herself at him again, her speed blinding and her movements fuelled by the unyielding rage of a newborn. Aro moved to sidestep her, but she anticipated his dodge, pivoting midair and landing a solid kick to his side. The impact sent him careening into one of the throne room's towering columns, which cracked under the force.

"You want chaos, Aro?" she hissed, stalking toward him as he straightened, brushing dust from his robes. "I'll give you chaos!"

Before he could reply, she grabbed the nearest piece of furniture—a beautifully carved table older than most human civilisations—and hurled it at him with terrifying strength. Aro ducked just in time, the table splintering against the wall behind him and sending shards of wood scattering across the floor.

"My dear, must you destroy the décor?" he chided, his tone calm despite the growing tension. "It was a gift from the Medici."

"Then maybe you should've thought of that before stealing my book!" Alara shot back, her voice rising as she advanced on him again.

Aro's movements grew sharper, his usual fluid grace now tinged with urgency as he evaded Alara's relentless strikes. Each narrowly missed blow only fuelled her fury, her attacks becoming more chaotic. With a wild sweep of her arm, she sent a small table flying, its carefully arranged tomes and books scattering across the floor. One ancient volume slid dangerously close to the humans now huddled off to the side, their frightened whimpers filling the air as they tried to shrink further away from the chaos

"Aro, I must say, this is a magnificent display of your leadership skills." Caius smirked.

"Caius," Marcus murmured, his tone both disapproving and weary, "this isn't helping."

"Oh, I beg to differ," Caius replied, his eyes gleaming with amusement.

Alara lunged again, this time managing to grab hold of Aro's arm. She twisted sharply, her strength forcing him off balance. He barely managed to keep his grip on the book as she swung him around and slammed him into another column. The crack of stone echoed through the room, and a few more chunks of marble fell to the floor.

"Are you done yet?" Aro asked, his voice strained but still infuriatingly composed.

"Not even close!" Alara roared, tackling him to the ground. The impact sent both of them skidding across the marble floor, scattering debris in their wake. She straddled him, her hands pinning his shoulders as she bared her fangs.

"Give. It. Back," she growled, her voice vibrating with barely restrained fury.

Aro, despite being pinned, managed a faint smile. "Are you sure you don't wish to feed first? It might help you… refocus."

Her gaze flicked to the humans, the scent of their blood flooding her senses and making her throat burn. But she shook her head, her focus snapping back to Aro. "Not until I get my book."

"Then I fear this will escalate further," he replied, his voice still maddeningly calm.

As the chaos continued, Felix leaned closer to Jane, grinning. "She's absolutely tearing him apart."

Jane smirked. "It's about time someone did."

Marcus, stepping forward with a rare display of authority, raised a hand. "Enough. Both of you," he said, his tone low but firm. "This is becoming ridiculous."

Alara barely acknowledged him, her attention locked on Aro as he manoeuvred out from under her grip and flipped gracefully to his feet. She lunged at him again, only to be intercepted mid-motion as Marcus stepped between them.

"Alara," Marcus said quietly, his gaze meeting hers. "Feed. Then retrieve your book. This is not worth the destruction you're causing."

Alara didn't even spare him a glance. Her focus remained locked on Aro, who now stood with her book clutched tightly in his hands, his calm demeanour masking what was likely a growing irritation.

"No," she snapped, her voice sharp as a blade. "I'm getting my book first."

"Stubborn," Caius muttered from the sidelines, his smirk widening. "I like her spirit."

"This is absurd, Alara." Marcus sighed heavily, his stoic expression barely hiding his exasperation

"Absurd?" Alara barked out a laugh as she advanced on Aro again. "What's absurd is him thinking he can take my book and win."

She lunged once more, her speed a blur as she closed the distance between them. Aro attempted to sidestep her, but her newborn instincts were too sharp. Her hand caught his arm, and with a growl, she threw him across the room. His body crashed into another marble column, sending cracks spiderwebbing across its surface.

"I believe that's the third column," Felix noted casually, his grin widening. "At this rate, she'll bring the whole place down."

"Maybe then Aro will learn not to steal," Jane quipped, her arms crossed as she watched the chaos unfold with a smirk.

Aro rose gracefully from the rubble, brushing off his robes with a sigh. "Alara, my dear, I must commend your tenacity," he said, his tone as smooth as ever. "But surely you see this is becoming… counterproductive."

She didn't answer. Instead, she grabbed a chair and hurled it at him with terrifying precision. Aro barely dodged, the chair shattering against the wall behind him.

"I see we're well past reason," Aro murmured, his eyes narrowing slightly.

"Reason went out the window when you took my book!" Alara snarled, her voice vibrating with fury.

The humans in the room whimpered louder, huddling closer together as the destruction continued. One of them, their voice shaking, dared to whisper, "Why are they fighting over a book?"

Caius let out a dry laugh. "Because she's insane," he said, though there was a note of amusement in his voice. "And apparently Aro is too."

"She's not insane," Jane replied, her smirk widening. "Just passionate."

"Passionate enough to turn the throne room into a battlefield," Marcus muttered under his breath.

Alara darted forward again, this time using her momentum to drive Aro back toward the centre of the room. He blocked her first swing but couldn't deflect the second, her fist connecting with his chest and sending him skidding backward. The book slipped slightly from his grasp, and her eyes lit up with triumph.

"You're slipping, Aro," she taunted, her fangs bared in a feral grin. "Better hold on tight."

"I intend to," he replied smoothly, though his voice was edged with tension. "But do consider—"

"Less talking, more handing it over!" she snapped, lunging at him again.

This time, she managed to grab the book's spine, her grip ironclad. Aro pulled back, his strength almost matching hers, but her rage gave her the edge. With a final, furious yank, she tore the book from his grasp, sending him stumbling backward.

"Got it!" she crowed, clutching the book tightly to her chest like a trophy.

Aro straightened, his expression calm but his robes dishevelled from the struggle. "Congratulations, my dear," he said, inclining his head slightly. "You've won your prize."

"Damn right I have," she shot back, inspecting the book for damage. Her crimson eyes narrowed as she noticed a small tear on the dust jacket. She glared at Aro, her voice low and dangerous. "You're lucky this isn't a limited edition, or we'd be having a very different conversation right now."

"And you're lucky I'm patient," Aro replied, his tone still maddeningly calm. "But I must warn you—if you keep continuing to neglect your hunger, another intervention will be unavoidable."

She scowled, turning on her heel to leave. "If you so much as think about touching my books again, I'll bring this whole castle down."

As she stormed out, Felix chuckled. "She's got a point. That was one hell of a fight over a book."

"Ah yes, truly a proud moment for the great Aro—outwitted and outmatched by a newborn with a literary obsession. Shall we immortalise this victory in our records?" Caius tone dripped with sarcasm.

Jane laughed softly. "I almost wish she hadn't gotten it back. Another round would've been worth the repairs."

Marcus surveyed the wreckage with a weary look, his tone laced with disapproval. "This went too far You turned the throne room into a theatre for absurdity."

Aro straightened his robes, his faint smile tinged with exasperation as he watched Alara storm away. "A spectacle, to be sure," he murmured, "though perhaps not the result I had hoped for." Then, raising his voice just enough to carry after her, he added, "Do consider feeding soon, my dear, or next time I won't be quite so lenient."

From the distance, Alara's voice echoed back: "Touch my books again, and you won't survive the next lesson!"

Aro's patience, vast and enduring as the centuries he had lived, had finally frayed to its limit. Two weeks had passed since their theatrical scuffle in the throne room, and Alara—a newborn vampire, no less—continued to ignore her instincts, defying her very nature in favour of fiction. The audacity of her stubbornness, while once amusing, had now pushed even his legendary composure to its breaking point.

"Alara," he said, his tone calm but carrying the weight of deep disappointment, like a father addressing a wayward child. "You are not only denying yourself but jeopardising the balance we all strive to maintain. I have allowed this indulgence because I believed you would find reason, but my faith in your judgement is… wavering."

His crimson eyes softened slightly, though his voice remained firm. "You know better than this, my dear. And I expected better from you."

She didn't even flinch, her crimson eyes glued to the latest book she'd pilfered from the library's diminishing stash. It was, she had to admit, a great read—A Dance with Dragons gripped her in a way most books hadn't. But she wouldn't let Aro know that. She simply turned the page, her expression calm, her entire demeanour shouting one thing: You can't make me care.

"Then so be it," he murmured, rising to his feet with a predatory elegance. "You leave me no choice."

Alara didn't look up, not until he uttered the fateful words that changed everything.

"Jon Snow dies."

The words echoed through the library like a thunderclap. Alara froze mid-page, her eyes snapping to Aro in wide, horrified disbelief.

"What," she whispered, her voice dangerously low.

Aro's lips curled into a smug smile. "I said, Jon Snow—"

"I HEARD YOU," she growled, slamming her book shut and rising to her feet. Her stance was taut, her fangs bared. "You didn't just— You wouldn't."

"Oh, but I did," Aro said, stepping toward her with an unsettling calm. "You've left me no choice, my dear. If you insist on ignoring your instincts, I must… encourage you."

Her crimson eyes narrowed. "Encourage me how? By RUINING MY LIFE?"

Aro shrugged theatrically. "Your 'To Be Read' pile was taking on a life of its own. I simply thought it would be… efficient."

"You absolute menace," she hissed. "You wouldn't dare."

"Oh?" Aro said, picking up another book from her carefully curated stack. He read the title aloud. "The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo." He flipped the book open, feigning interest. "Ah, yes. Evelyn's greatest love? Celia St. James. Tragic, truly."

Alara's scream was inhuman. "YOU MONSTER."

She lunged at him, her speed blinding. Aro barely had time to toss the book aside before she tackled him to the ground, her fists pounding against his chest with all the ferocity of a newborn vampire who had just learned what true rage felt like.

"I'll kill you!" she shrieked, landing a particularly solid punch. "I'll destroy you! I'll—"

"Feed, perhaps?" Aro offered, still maddeningly calm despite the onslaught. "You'd be much stronger, you know."

She froze, her hands still gripping his robes, pulling his face closer to hers. Her gaze flickered to the human cowering in the corner, then back to Aro.

"Don't," she warned, her voice trembling with fury, "even think about ruining Crescent City."

Aro's eyes sparkled with amusement. "Bryce and Hunt—"

She slammed him back to the ground with a snarl, her fangs glinting dangerously close to his neck. "SAY ONE MORE WORD."

Felix peeked into the library at the commotion, Jane beside him, both watching with wide eyes. "She's going to kill him," Felix muttered.

"Good," Jane said with a smirk. "He deserves it."

She glared at him, her fangs bared, her hunger undeniable now. "You're lucky I can't drain you dry."

"Indeed," Aro replied smoothly, his voice soft and coaxing. "But even if you could, why bother? There's perfectly good sustenance waiting right there." He tilted his head toward the human, who let out a pitiful whimper, shrinking further into the corner.

Alara's head turned slightly, her gaze locking onto the trembling human for the first time. The scent of fresh, warm blood filled her senses, sharp and tantalising. Her throat burned with need, and the ache in her body became impossible to ignore. She clenched her fists, willing herself to focus, but her instincts were clawing to the surface, threatening to overwhelm her resolve.

"Alara," he said, his voice slipping into a honeyed tone that was both infuriating and persuasive, "I propose a truce."

She raised an eyebrow, though her crimson eyes betrayed the conflict raging within her. "A truce?"

"Yes," he said, clasping his hands behind his back. "If you feed—just this once—I swear not to reveal another ending. Not even a hint."

Her eyes narrowed. "You swear?"

"On my immortal existence," Aro said, his expression solemn. "No more spoilers. Not a word about Crescent City, Kingdom of Ash, or any other treasured tale in your collection."

She studied him, her hunger warring with her mistrust. "And if you break this promise?"

"Then you may exact whatever vengeance you see fit," Aro replied smoothly, a small smile tugging at his lips. "Though I assure you, I am a man of my word."

Alara's gaze flickered to the human again, the scent of their blood making her throat burn like fire. Her body ached, screaming at her to give in, to stop fighting what she was. But her pride—and her irritation with Aro—held her back.

"Fine," she snapped, stepping toward the human with deliberate slowness. "But if you so much as breathe a spoiler after this, I'm annotating every single one of your scrolls with glitter gel pens."

Aro's smile widened ever so slightly. "Duly noted, my dear."

The human whimpered as Alara closed the distance, her hunger finally taking over. She sank her fangs into their neck, the rush of warm blood flooding her senses and quenching the fire in her throat. For the first time in weeks, she felt something akin to peace.

From the doorway, Felix leaned casually against the frame, a smug grin spreading across his face. "And here I thought we'd have to stage a whole Broadway musical to get her to feed."

Jane tilted her head, her smirk sharp. "Don't give Aro ideas. He'd write the script, direct it, and somehow make it about himself."

"Still, gotta give him credit. Got her to feed without losing a limb. Impressive."

Jane's eyes gleamed with mischief. "For now. Let's see how long he lasts when she realises he spoiled half of her "To-be-read" pile during his interventions.'"

"Oh, she'll torch his precious scroll collection for that." Felix laughed.

"Or," Jane added, her smirk widening, "she'll alphabetise them backwards out of spite."

From across the room, Aro's voice echoed smoothly, his tone carrying just a hint of amusement. "I can hear you both, you know."

Alara pulled back from the human, wiping her mouth with deliberate calm. She turned slowly toward the doorway, her crimson eyes narrowing. "What's this about you spoiling my to-be-read books?"

Felix and Jane both stepped back, their smirks replaced by mock-serious expressions. "Good luck, Aro," Felix said cheerfully as they retreated.

"Enjoy the consequences," Jane added with a mock bow before disappearing down the hall.

Aro sighed, his composure unflinching even as Alara stalked toward him. "My dear," he began, his voice honeyed but cautious, "let's not be hasty—"

"Run, Aro." Her voice was low, dangerous, and entirely too amused.

For once, Aro seemed to consider it.

Chapter Text

It began with a snide comment.

Caius, arms crossed, expression curled in aristocratic disdain, stood at the door of their shared quarters watching Alara gather up a broom and dustpan. "Tesoro," he drawled, voice steeped in superiority, "must you insist on doing things so... beneath you?"

She blinked. "I dropped a glass. I'm cleaning it up."

"You're mated to royalty, not meant to be scrubbing floors like some servant girl. There are staff for that."

Alara stilled, something volcanic and ancient brewing behind her eyes. Slowly, methodically, she straightened up. "You saying I'm lesser for wanting to clean my own mess?"

"I'm saying you are lesser while doing it. It's beneath you."

She dropped the dustpan with a deliberate clack and turned on her heel. "Beneath me? Beneath me?" she hissed, barely audible. "I'll show you 'beneath me,' you condescending, ivory-haired sociopath."

She stormed out of the castle, muttering a symphony of venom-laced curses. "I'll fucking show him beneath me—'Oh don't sweep the floor, Alara, it's too mundane for your delicate royal fucking hands.' Well how about this, motherfucker."

She reached the garden terrace, spotted a group of human groundskeepers tending to the castle's sprawling lawns and flowerbeds, and stomped toward them with all the wrath of a vengeful goddess in Louboutin boots.

The workers scrambled to attention, unsure if they were about to be fired or executed.

"I require access to that." She pointed at the manual push mower with imperial authority.

One brave soul blinked. "...The mower?"

"Yes," she snapped. "For... inspection. I must assess the quality of the cut. Standard royal protocol."

They nodded. Hesitantly. One of them wheeled the mower forward. "Of course, my lady."

With a theatrical flick of her coat, Alara seized the handle and began pushing furiously across the lawn.

"Beneath me, huh? Is this fucking beneath me, Caius?" she hissed, muscles straining. "Oh no, not the horror of touching grass. The audacity of self-reliance, you smug, marble-faced prick."

Volturi guards began to trickle in, drawn by the bizarre sight of their queen methodically mowing the palace lawn while swearing like a sailor under her breath.

Felix leaned against a tree, chewing on a toothpick. "Is... is she okay?"

Alec shrugged. "I think Caius said something dumb again."

One of the last people Alara expected to speak was Heidi, who'd just wandered into the garden in heels far too expensive for lawn terrain. The scent of perfume hit before the voice did.

"My lady," Heidi called, hesitating at the edge of the grass with a concerned tilt of her head, "forgive me, but… are you alright? Shouldn't someone else be doing that?"

Alara stopped dead in her tracks, hands gripping the mower like she was about to run it through a hedge and then into the sun. She turned with the slow, deadly precision of a storm changing course.

"Am I alright?" she echoed, eyes wide, cheeks flushed, hair stuck to her forehead like a warrior who had just returned from battle. "You see me out here manhandling this medieval lawn torture device, sweat pouring down my spine, because an ancient, undead aristocrat told me I was too royal to clean up my own mess—and you think the problem is that I'm not letting someone else do it?"

Heidi blinked. "I—I didn't mean it like—"

"Oh, sweetie," Alara cut in with a smile that had too many teeth, "if I wanted to be patronised, I'd go back upstairs and talk to my mate."

Heidi wisely chose silence.

The mower clattered forward again. "Go back to your perfume parade, Heidi," Alara muttered. "Unless you've got a spare rake and a suppressed urge to dismantle the class system."

The mower clattered over a rock and rattled violently. She wrestled it into submission, still muttering under her breath. "Beneath me, motherfucker... I'll pave a goddamn highway across this entire estate out of pure spite."

By midday, she had finished mowing the entire south lawn, cursing with every turn, her long hair tied up in a makeshift bun with a twine of rose stems she yanked from the hedges. Caius watched from a distant balcony with the blank expression of someone deeply regretting their life choices.

Marcus wandered up beside him, blinking slowly. "You insulted her again, didn't you?"

Caius didn't answer.

A few minutes later, Demetri leaned against the railing next to them, arms crossed. "You know she's out there digging a vegetable garden now?"

Caius exhaled through his nose. "Of course she is."

Alara's voice rang out across the field, loud and unmistakable. "BEHOLD! LET THE RECORD STATE I PLANTED FUCKING BEETS."

No one said a word. Not even Caius.

By the time Aro strolled out into the gardens, Alara had already abandoned the push mower and transitioned into ripping weeds from a flowerbed with all the calm of a volcanic eruption mid-flow.

The sky above the Volturi estate was a clear, pristine blue—mocking, really, given the inner cataclysm unfolding in its perfectly manicured gardens.

Alara's hair clung to her temple in damp strands. Her robe—once regal and dramatic—now lay in a heap beneath the nearby hedge, flung off in a fit of heat-induced rage. Her tank top was damp, dirt streaked across her arms, chest heaving.

"Beneath me," she muttered like a curse, yanking a dandelion from its roots with unnecessary violence. "Fuckin' beneath me, is it? Gonna shove a whole hedgerow up his ancient arse."

Aro approached slowly, silently. He walked like mist on marble—soft and graceful. His eyes trailed over the chaos: the mower tipped on its side, the neat rows of flowers now a battlefield, the startled humans pretending not to exist.

"Tesoro," he began, soft as always.

"Don't."

He paused. Alara didn't even look up. "Don't you dare use that fucking voice right now."

He tilted his head. "I merely came to—"

"To what?" she snapped, hurling a clump of weeds into the grass. "Offer me a cool cloth? Whisper something poetic while I'm knee-deep in bloody topsoil?" She whirled on him, eyes blazing. "Unless you're here to help me dig a trench to metaphorically bury Caius's ego, I'd suggest backing the fuck off."

Aro blinked, hands folding calmly before him. "You appear distressed."

"I'm livid, Aro," she hissed, flinging a trowel into the soil with a satisfying thunk. "Your bastard brother told me I'm too royal to clean a fucking glass. So now I'm gardening like a psychopath while sweating through my bra because he thinks I should float around like some glass figurine!"

She gestured wildly. "Does this look like a queen to you?! I am blistering, filthy, and seconds from throwing this goddamn spade through the next person's ribcage!"

Aro's lips twitched. "You're radiant as ever."

"Fuck you," Alara snapped, pointing the spade at him. "Seriously. If one more of you says something vaguely patronising or floaty or immortal-poetic while I'm standing here smelling like an earthy rage demon, I swear to god—"

Behind them, several guards silently turned on their heels and retreated.

Aro sighed. "He didn't mean to hurt you, tesoro."

Alara scoffed. "Oh, he meant it. Every word. That smug bastard probably thinks I should be hand-fed grapes while servants wipe my arse."

There was a long pause. Aro considered the mental image. "Would you like me to arrange—"

"Aro."

"Yes?"

"Get. Out. Of. My. Face."

He inclined his head slightly, retreating one graceful step like a man unbothered by threats of bodily harm.

But he didn't leave. No, of course he didn't. Instead, he settled into a stone bench beside the vegetable patch as though he were watching a play.

Alara glared at him. "Seriously?"

"I'm simply spectating," he said mildly. "This is the most riveting act of vengeance I've seen in centuries."

"Oh I'm not done," she muttered darkly, snatching up a watering can like it was a weapon. "Wait till I start pruning things. We'll see how beneath me that is."

"Do carry on, amore. I'll alert the court if you happen to unearth a corpse."

"Tell them it's fucking Caius."

Aro remained still, the very image of timeless elegance as he sat on the stone bench, one leg crossed over the other, hands folded in his lap like a statue carved from shadow and silk.

"You know," he murmured, "Caius truly does believe it's beneath you."

Alara froze mid-pour, the watering can sloshing a wave over the marigolds.

She didn't speak. Not immediately. The silence stretched, thickening like summer air before a storm. Then—very slowly—she stood upright, set the watering can down with the precision of someone trying not to yeet it into the nearest wall, and stalked over to Aro.

He didn't flinch. Didn't move. Alara came to a stop in front of him, arms crossed, dirt-smeared and sweat-slicked, eyes burning.

"So that's it, huh?" she snapped. "You just accept that kind of thinking? That picking up a shovel or washing a goddamn dish makes someone less?"

Aro tilted his head slightly, brows lifting like he was curious where this would go—but he didn't answer.

Alara leaned in, her shadow cutting across him like a blade. "Do you hear yourselves when you talk like that?" she demanded. "As if worth is tied to who has the cleanest hands or the fanciest title? As if the world isn't literally held together by people doing the very jobs you all sneer at?"

Aro's gaze didn't waver. He said nothing.

She stepped closer, crowding his space now, too furious to care. "You think mowing a lawn is beneath me? Cleaning a mess? Growing food? Do you know how much people get paid to do that work? It's real work. Essential. You can't eat without someone planting and harvesting. You don't live in a clean castle without someone scrubbing the floors and fixing the pipes."

She threw her arms out to the estate surrounding them. "This whole place? Would fall apart in weeks without those so-called 'low class' workers you all pretend not to see. You wanna act like it's shameful to pick up a fucking broom? Go ahead. But don't expect me to sit pretty and be complicit in that bullshit."

Aro was quiet for a long moment. Thoughtful. Maybe even thoughtful in a way that made her more angry—because he didn't look offended. He looked amused.

Which was somehow worse.

"You're absolutely right," he said eventually, softly. "And yet…"

Alara narrowed her eyes. "And yet what?"

"…Caius is not a creature of humility, tesoro," he said, a small, regretful smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "He was born into power and conditioned to see value through dominance. It's not disdain for the work itself—it's a reflection of what he fears becoming."

"Well, he can fear me shoving a rake up his arse next time he calls someone lesser for doing it."

"I suspect he already does," Aro murmured.

Alara straightened, the tension rolling off her like steam. "I'm going back to planting onions. And if one more of you so much as breathes the word beneath, I will personally reorganise your throne room into a community composting facility."

She turned on her heel and stomped away, dirt flying with every step.

Just beyond the archway, behind a rose-covered trellis, Aro stood quietly with Caius.

The older king looked tense, his arms folded, jaw tight. He'd clearly been summoned there—likely under some false pretense that didn't include "watch your mate become one with horticulture."

Aro observed the scene in the garden with faint amusement. "She's quite spirited today."

Caius scoffed. "She's unhinged. She's dirt-covered, swearing at my guards, and threatening the lawn with agricultural warfare."

"She's also passionate," Aro offered delicately. "Articulate. Morally sound."

"She's planting radishes in retaliation."

"Yes, well." Aro gave a slow shrug. "You did provoke her."

Caius's glare could have scorched marble. "I didn't provoke her. I made an observation."

"You told her cleaning up after herself was beneath her," Aro said evenly.

"It is! She's a queen!"

"She's a human," Aro reminded him softly. "A human who still sees dignity in effort. You may wish to consider the consequences of scorning that. She's not angry over spilled glassware. She's angry that you dismissed half the world as disposable."

Caius was silent, though his jaw clenched tighter.

"I don't suggest you apologise," Aro continued, glancing back toward the beds where Alara was now yelling something about needing "four hundred metric tonnes of mulch." "I suggest you understand her. She doesn't want a throne. She wants to matter, not just sit in some gilded corner like a prized possession."

"She's mad," Caius muttered.

"She's right," Aro corrected.

In the distance, a spade clanged off a watering trough, followed by more creative swearing.

Caius sighed. "Do I have to help her garden now?"

Aro gave a small, wicked smile. "Only if you value your limbs."

By the time Caius finally, begrudgingly, made his way across the manicured lawn toward the scene of rural vengeance, Alara was knee-deep in what could only be described as a suspiciously grave-shaped hole.

One of the guards—Felix, poor bastard—was inside the pit with a shovel, dutifully digging while casting occasional side-eyes at Alara like he wasn't sure if he was helping her plant potatoes or preparing a Volturi-backed homicide.

Alara stood nearby, arms folded, smeared with dirt from forehead to shins, nodding critically as she surveyed the progress. "Good depth. That's proper 'fuck around and find out' energy. We might get away with two bodies if we position them just right."

Felix blinked slowly, clearly rethinking every life decision that led to this moment.

Caius stopped at the edge of the garden, staring at the scene in abject horror.

"Alara," he said, carefully, like someone speaking to a person holding a live grenade, "what. Exactly. Are you doing."

She turned, hands on hips, eyes blazing with the fury of a thousand suppressed feminist essays. "Oh look," she snapped. "Royalty has deigned to descend from his ivory tower. Come to critique my form? Or are you here to bless the commoners with your presence?"

"I was told you were planting vegetables, not unearthing a burial site."

"Well, you told me physical labour was beneath me," she shot back. "So I'm embracing my new peasant status with vigour."

"You're covered in dirt."

"You're covered in condescension."

They stared each other down while Felix slowly climbed out of the hole, brushing off his once-pristine attire and deciding he no longer wished to be involved in this relationship drama-slash-landscaping project.

Caius stepped closer, tone clipped. "Do you even know what you're digging?"

"A metaphor," Alara snapped. "For your respect. And also maybe a compost pit. I haven't decided yet."

"I could have you dragged back inside."

"I could drag you into this hole."

Caius's eye twitched. "You're being unreasonable."

"I'm being the result of years of elitist bullshit finally meeting a heatwave, a push mower, and too many podcasts about class warfare." She jabbed a finger toward the pit. "You see this? This is where I bury the assumption that dignity is only afforded to those who've never touched a rake!"

There was a long, loaded silence.

Caius looked at her—sweaty, feral, planting rebellion one seed at a time—and for the first time in centuries, the King of Rage felt… outmatched.

"I... brought you gloves," he said stiffly, holding out a pristine pair of gardening gloves he'd very clearly forced Demetri to fetch at the last minute.

Alara narrowed her eyes, took the gloves, and wiped her sweaty brow with them.

"Thanks," she said sweetly. "Now go fetch me the peas. We're expanding the rebellion to legumes."

Caius opened his mouth. Closed it. Turned slowly and walked back toward the castle, muttering under his breath.

Felix looked at Alara. "So uh… you want the hole deeper or…?"

"Six feet, Felix. You know the standard."

Alara didn't even look up as she tossed a clump of dirt out of the growing pit. Her voice was casual—too casual.

"Make sure it's long enough to fit Caius."

Felix paused mid-shovel, glancing over at her with a look that screamed please clarify whether this is metaphorical or if I should start prepping a cover story.

"Sorry… what now?"

She looked over her shoulder, smiling sweetly through the dirt-streaked chaos of her face. "I said, make sure it's long enough to fit Caius. You never know when you'll need an emergency grave for a snob with a god complex."

Felix stared at her. She stared back.

"Right," he said finally, resuming his digging with twice the enthusiasm and none of the confidence. "Long enough for Caius. Got it. Not asking questions."

From the castle steps, Demetri leaned against a column, watching the scene unfold with the distinct look of someone who really didn't want to be called next.

"I swear," he muttered to Santiago beside him, "one of these days she's actually going to bury one of us."

Santiago shrugged. "She can try. But I'm not going down over carrots."

Jane and Alec had arrived silently, like a matching pair of vengeful shadows, drawn by the escalating chaos like vultures circling a particularly entertaining battlefield.

They stood a few paces back from the grave-pit-turned-political-statement, arms folded in perfect mirror, watching with the detached curiosity of immortal teenagers who'd seen too much to be fazed… and yet somehow this was still deeply fascinating.

Jane's eyes narrowed at the sight of Alara dragging a bag of compost toward the trench with violent purpose. "Is she actually going to bury him?" she asked flatly.

Alec tilted his head. "Statistically, it seems plausible. Emotionally? I think she's already halfway through the eulogy."

Alara looked up, mid-haul, spotted them, and pointed a gloved finger. "You two! Don't just stand there like gothic bookends. Make yourselves useful—go find some bloody kale."

Jane raised a brow. "You're planting kale now?"

"I'm burying imperialism," Alara barked. "And if it grows into leafy greens, so be it!"

Alec offered mildly, "You know, we could just force a gardener to help you."

"I am the gardener now!" she snapped, stabbing the compost bag with a trowel like it owed her money. "Until every last pretentious remark Caius has ever made is fertiliser for my beetroot, I dig."

Jane glanced at Alec. "She's gone feral."

"She's reclaiming the means of production," he corrected.

Alara straightened up, wiping her brow, looking unhinged and radiant all at once. "And don't worry," she added loudly to no one in particular, "when I'm done, I'll carve his fucking name into a zucchini."

Jane blinked. "…Are you alright?"

Alara fixed her with a manic grin. "Never better. Hand me the pitchfork."

Jane didn't move. "Do you even know what a pitchfork is?"

"No, but I'm sure it's beneath me," Alara spat, "which means I'm obviously using one today."

Alec slowly backed away. "I'm going to go get the kale now."

"GOOD." Alara went back to digging, muttering under her breath about compost, monarchy, and 'long live the proletariat, bitches.'

Jane leaned over to Alec as they walked off. "If she actually tries to bury Caius—"

"We let her," Alec said. "It's the only natural consequence at this point."

Alara was halfway through dramatically flinging soil over her shoulder—muttering a creative string of curses about topsoil, egos, and the oppressive weight of patriarchal horticulture—when a quiet presence stepped up beside her.

Not a flurry of robes, not the chill of disdain. Just calm. Soft and steady. Marcus.

He crouched beside the pit without a word, knees creaking slightly like ancient stone shifting into place. His robe sleeves rolled themselves back as if by magic—or habit—and with the slow, unhurried grace of someone who hadn't rushed in over a millennium, he picked up a spare trowel.

Alara paused, blinking at him. "Oh. It's you."

"Yes," he said simply, voice low and weightless, like wind through old ruins. "I heard... you were planting a revolution."

Alara sighed, dropping onto her heels, the fire still simmering in her chest but flickering at the edges. "I'm planting the consequences of an outdated monarchy's bullshit," she muttered.

"Ah." Marcus scooped a handful of soil and gently loosened it between his fingers. "The most nourishing kind."

For a few moments, neither of them said anything. They just worked. Together. Quiet and methodical. The sound of distant laughter from the guards and the scraping of the trowel grounded her more than she cared to admit.

Marcus finally spoke again, softly, still not looking directly at her. "You know, when Didyme was alive, she would prune the entire southern orchard by hand every spring."

Alara blinked. "Really?"

He nodded. "She said it reminded her that life was always growing, even when the roots weren't visible." His hands moved carefully, placing a seedling into the soil like it was a fragile thought. "I never stopped her. I offered to help, once. She smiled and said, 'You can help by not telling me it's beneath me.'"

Alara looked at him, heat rising again—but this time from behind her eyes, not her rage. She blinked quickly, jaw tight. "He doesn't understand. He thinks loving someone is putting them on a pedestal. But I don't want to be worshipped. I want to be seen."

Marcus gently packed soil around the base of a plant. "And now you're growing kale as a sermon."

She huffed a laugh. "Radishes too. I might get ambitious."

"I will help you bury whatever part of him you feel necessary," Marcus offered, deadpan.

Alara snorted, wiping her cheek with her dirt-streaked wrist. "You're my favourite."

"I know."

They worked in silence again. Her breath started to steady. The anger still hummed in her chest, but it was quieter now. Transformed.

From a distance, Jane and Alec watched as the chaos queen and the mourning king planted root vegetables in total, reverent calm.

Jane leaned toward her brother. "You think this counts as emotional regulation?"

Alec shrugged. "If it keeps her from burying Caius? Absolutely."

The sun had shifted by the time Alara sat back on her heels, the light casting long gold streaks across the churned-up garden. Her hands were filthy, her knees a mess of grass stains, her hair sticking up in every possible direction—but her breathing had finally evened out.

Beside her, Marcus continued to work at his own pace, gently pressing seeds into the soil like he was tucking secrets into a safe place.

Alara watched him for a long moment. "You know," she said, voice softer now, "for someone who spends most of his time looking like he's mourning the death of joy itself… you're weirdly good at this."

Marcus gave the faintest shrug, a ghost of a smile touching the corner of his mouth. "Plants are patient. Quiet. They ask nothing, yet still offer everything."

Alara leaned back, glancing up at the sky. "That sounds like a poetic way of saying they don't piss you off."

"Precisely." He glanced over at her, expression somehow… warm. "You should keep planting, if it steadies you. Not out of spite. Out of grounding."

She scoffed lightly. "What, no lecture on dignity or image? No warning that the guards think I've lost it?"

"The guards are lucky to witness someone choosing to build, when she could destroy." He paused, then added, "Besides, it's far more alarming when you're quiet."

Alara laughed—genuinely this time. "Fair point."

A short distance away, a few of the human staff had started cautiously edging back into their tasks, comforted, perhaps, by the image of Marcus kneeling in the dirt like a ghostly scarecrow with the queen of chaos herself beside him.

From the hedgerow, Jane whispered theatrically to Alec, "They look like a cursed Hallmark card."

Alec was squinting. "Is she crying or is that just sweat in her eye?"

"Knowing her? Probably both."

Alara, still seated in the dirt, picked up a clump of compost and lazily lobbed it over her shoulder—smacking Jane squarely on the arm.

Jane froze.

Alara didn't even look back. "Tell anyone I got sentimental and I will personally plant you."

Jane scowled, brushing herself off. "You're feral."

"I prefer the term revolutionary."

Marcus simply kept planting. "You could start a commune."

Alara grinned. "Don't tempt me."

He glanced at her sidelong. "Too late."

The wind shifted, cool and kind, rustling through the trees and newly tilled rows. For the first time all day, Alara didn't feel like she was burning. Not in rage. Not in helplessness. Just warm. Steady. Rooted. Maybe not calm—but held.

And for a little while longer, she let herself plant rebellion in the dirt, beside the only one in the castle who understood what it meant to be angry and still believe in growth.

Night had fallen gently over Volterra, cloaking the once-chaotic gardens in a hush of silver light and drifting shadows. The heat had bled from the stones, the air now cool and calm. Most of the staff had retired, the guards keeping a respectful distance—no one particularly eager to prod the queen after a full day of agricultural vengeance.

Caius found her like that.

Starfished on the ground. Limbs splayed unceremoniously across the churned-up soil. Her tank top was stained, knees scuffed, and her braid had mostly unravelled, wild strands splayed across the grass. Dirt was streaked across her cheek. She looked absolutely ruined.

And yet she was smiling faintly, eyes open to the glittering stars overhead, chest rising and falling in slow, even breaths.

Caius approached silently, long coat brushing against his legs. For once, he didn't sneer, didn't huff with impatience or demand an explanation. He just stood there, staring down at her.

"You look like something the wolves dragged in," he finally murmured.

Alara didn't flinch. Didn't even turn her head. "And you look like someone who should've been dragged into that hole."

Caius exhaled through his nose. That was fair.

After a pause, she added, "I'm too tired to yell at you right now. So if you're here to be smug, fuck off and save it for tomorrow."

He stood in silence a beat longer, then slowly lowered himself to sit beside her—gracelessly, with a faint grunt of effort and eternal reluctance. His pale hand rested near hers in the grass but didn't quite touch it.

They sat there for a long while, saying nothing. Just the hum of crickets, the soft breeze through olive trees, and the ever-present pulse of tension that bound them together.

Caius eventually broke the silence. "You've ruined the lawn."

"Good," she muttered. "Maybe I'll tear up the whole estate and replace it with sweet potato vines."

Another pause.

"I brought you water," he said, almost gruffly, pulling a bottle from his coat and setting it beside her like it might detonate.

Alara eyed it, then gave him the most exhausted, sideways glance she could muster. "Oh wow. Caius Volturi brought me hydration. Tell the press. A new era has dawned."

He frowned. "You're insufferable."

"And you're lucky I'm too sore to throw you into that pit."

The corners of his mouth twitched—almost a smile, but far too prideful to let it live.

More silence.

Finally, Caius looked up at the sky, his voice low. "I still don't understand you."

Alara shifted, stretching her hand toward the stars. "That's because you keep trying to understand me like I'm a statue in your fucking throne room. Something cold and carved and still. I'm not." She dropped her arm with a soft thud. "I'm dirt and bruised knees. I'll always be crawling through the mess and the roots, and that's not going to change."

Caius watched her, something unreadable flickering in his gaze.

"I don't want you to worship me, Caius," she added softly. "I want you to stand beside me. Even when I'm covered in compost."

He said nothing. But he didn't leave either. Instead, he leaned back into the grass, lying down beside her, stiff at first, as though the earth might stain him.

The silence between them stretched on, suspended beneath a sky littered with stars. Somewhere in the trees, an owl called once and then fell quiet again, like even the night was holding its breath.

Caius turned his head just slightly, eyes catching the faint silver glint of dirt smeared along her cheekbone. He stared for a long moment, watching her chest rise and fall in slow, tired rhythm. The calluses on her fingers. The smudged lines around her eyes. The fire in her even when she had nothing left to burn.

And then he reached out and took her hand properly. Not a brush, not a graze. A real hold. Alara blinked her eyes open, surprised by the sudden warmth. She looked down at their hands, then at him.

His expression was tight, jaw clenched like the words hurt to form. "I was wrong."

Her brow lifted slightly.

He swallowed. "You were right. About the work. About the people who do it. About you." A pause, quiet and heavy. "It isn't beneath you. Nothing is. I see that now."

She stared at him, suspicious at first—but he didn't look smug. He looked like a man admitting something painful. Like he'd torn a piece out of himself and handed it over.

"I shouldn't have belittled what you were doing," he said quietly. "Or the people who do it. I… forget, sometimes. What it means to build instead of rule."

Alara let out a soft, tired breath. She didn't speak. But her fingers shifted in his, wrapping around his hand in return.

"I don't want to be the reason you feel smaller," Caius murmured, voice barely audible over the rustle of grass. "Even when I think I'm protecting you. Especially then."

A long silence passed. Then she whispered, "You're still getting buried if you ever say 'beneath you' again."

He huffed a laugh through his nose. "Fair."

She let her head loll toward him, eyes half-lidded. "That was a proper apology. You okay?"

"No," he muttered. "It was revolting."

But he still didn't let go of her hand. And as they lay there, side by side, dirt on their skin and the scent of crushed basil in the air, something unspoken settled between them. Not forgiveness. Not entirely. But maybe something better:

The stars above shimmered like a thousand tiny witnesses, silent and still as Alara turned onto her side, her hand still holding his. Caius looked over at her, and for a moment—just a moment—the hardness around his features eased, worn down by honesty and dirt and something dangerously close to tenderness.

Then she leaned in and kissed him—deep and slow, like a sigh into still water.

It wasn't the kind of kiss born of lust or power, but one that stripped away both. It was grounding. Intimate. Real. Her fingers curled behind his neck, pulling him into it, holding him there. And Caius—eternal, proud, venomous Caius—let himself be pulled. Let himself stay.

When she pulled back, her breath was warm against his lips, her forehead resting against his.

"I do love you, Caius," she whispered, eyes searching his. "Even when you make me mad. Especially when you make me mad. But you're going to have to get used to me doing things my way. Dirt and all."

He closed his eyes briefly, brow resting against hers. "Then I suppose I'll need to purchase more gloves."

She smiled. "And maybe help dig next time."

He groaned. "Let's not get carried away."

Alara laughed, soft and tired, curling against his side as the stars burned on—distant, eternal, and, for once, irrelevant.

Tonight, the world had narrowed to this:

Hands clasped. Hearts steadied. And roots planted in freshly turned soil.