The grand hall of the Volturi was silent, stone-carved and ancient as time itself — and still, it pulsed with something far more visceral than elegance: power. And at the center of it all, seated on a throne of obsidian and bone-white marble, you sat — a rose-gold vision of stillness and unfathomable poise — flanked by the three most dangerous immortals to ever walk the earth.

Aro’s hand was on your knee, thumb tracing gentle, reverent circles against your skin, like your very warmth was sacred. Caius leaned close on your other side, his pale hand gripping the edge of your throne like he needed the contact, possessive gaze never leaving you. And Marcus… Marcus, though vacant to the world, looked only at you — always at you — his eternal numbness melted into subtle longing whenever your fingers brushed his knuckles.

Aro smiled as the doors opened, voice bright like moonlight on a blade. “Ah, Edward Cullen. And… Bella.”

You didn’t move, but the air shifted — thick with tension. You could feel the emotional threads stretch from Marcus’s power, vibrating with longing, desperation, sacrifice. Poor Edward, his bond to Bella frayed and quivering like a torn harp string. Aro would taste that pain like wine.

Edward stood tall. Defiant. But your piercing red eyes met his, and his breath caught. It wasn’t your beauty — though you were stunning, a strange divine creature of warm skin and blood-red gaze — it was your presence. Serene and immovable. A queen born of logic and fire, with a mind sharper than any blade. A thousand calculations raced behind your expressionless face, every outcome, every risk, every decision playing out before anyone else even breathed.

But when Bella stepped forward, a tremor of something unspoken curled in the chamber. Caius growled softly, and Marcus's fingers twitched. Aro only smiled wider.

“Such love,” Aro said gently, lifting his hand. “So reckless. So sincere.” He turned to you, eyes alight. “My darling… is it not beautiful? The laws are broken, yet his motive is so very… poetic.”

Your voice, when it came, was soft — merciful — but undeniable.

“Intent does not erase action,” you said simply, gaze on Edward. “He exposed our world. And she knows too much.”

Bella took a breath, stepping forward, and you didn’t miss how Edward’s hand darted in front of her. Protective. Foolish. Admirable.

Aro leaned in, his cheek brushing yours as he murmured like a secret into your ear, “You’re far too gracious. If it were me, I’d pluck the girl from his arms and see what makes her so precious.”

You tilted your head ever so slightly — and Aro stilled, catching the flicker of warning in your eye.

“We are not ruled by whim,” you murmured. “We are eternal because we are just.”

It was Marcus who spoke next, his voice the sound of falling ash — hollow, disinterested, save for the softening it found only for you.

“Let the girl live or die. It is nothing. Unless… you wish her spared.”

Edward looked at you then, truly saw you — the thrones, the kings, the empire built around you — and knew he was standing in front of a goddess carved in mercy and steel.

He understood something then, something terrible: You were the only one in the room capable of compassion — and even your compassion had sharp teeth.

“You may leave,” you said at last, eyes on Bella. “But if she remains human… next time, I will not stop them.”

And the kings — your kings — moved only when you did. Aro pressed a kiss to your temple. Caius touched your hair. Marcus exhaled like he’d been holding his breath.