I got a review asking about the daughter of the house. Her name is Selene. She's married into the family by way of Caius' only 'son'. Who is, in all actuality, the only person he's ever changed into a vamp.

Shall I Compare Thee To A Summer's Day

I felt like an animal on display. In the short seconds after Q spoke, everyone was still, their eyes on me, threatened in a way. I watched as well, looking over the men that had slaughtered my kin, stolen my country, bathed my land in blood. There were four brothers Volturi—Aro, the current King, Caius, Marcus, and Carlisle—all frighteningly powerful, intriguingly intelligent, and far more experienced than any other monarchs. I knew the names of every child, every niece or nephew, every dog and cat. It was vital, my father used to say, to know your enemy as you know yourself. Though I could not place names to faces, except perhaps for Aro, I felt as if I knew each and every ounce of royal blood in the room.

"Isabella?" the older one, Aro I presumed, asked Q, "Charles sent his daughter to kill me?"

Q made a noise in the back of his throat, and I could feel his body vibrate beside mine, "Not you, Lord, but Congressman Hathaway."

Aro's sharp, dark burgundy eyes flicked to me, but I stayed strong in my place. It was said his eyes could pierce through a person, but his hardly wounded the armor of my flesh, "So you're the little minx that killed the Congressman?"

"Men aren't good at playing maids in a noble household," I responded passively, smiling as he rose his brows, "and, as you well know Aro, your Hathaway was a lusty one."

Q growled, but I merely rolled my eyes, letting them rest on the youngest brother, who must have been Carlisle. The youngest brother, fierce and beautiful who had fathered three boys with his wife. He locked eyes with me, quickly dropping them after they rested on my neck and bruised cheek. From the peripheral I saw Aro climbing down the throne, moving towards me. He came to stand just in front of my shadow, smiling still, even though I had clearly insulted him.

"Isabella, I must say, you have your mother's image," his knuckles grazed my cheek, "Lovely."

"You will not speak of my mother, Sir," I hissed, "it's your hands that bear her blood."

He waved me away, "A mistake, her death."

I laughed, cold and cruel, and completely unlike me, "Mistakes are merely acts we do not wish to claim responsibility for."

Aro chuckled, and I saw his eyes rest upon my neck, "Quinn," he addressed Q now, and I smiled at the man's full name finally revealed, "what have you don't to poor Isabella?"

"A little slip of my temper, Sire." Q nodded his head at me, as if he were apologizing. I brought my chained hands up to my neck, then dropped them as the wounds were sensitive, "She can be rather difficult."

"Like Charles, of course," Aro smiled again, "But back to business, love," he looked down at me, "what shall we do with you darling Isabella? I do not believe prison is the right place for a princess. And killing you would be just cruel. Losing his wife and daughter in the same week, how sad for Charles."

I held my breath, "He won't come for me."

Aro licked his lips, "He will, in time, and with the right incentive."

I hated the wicked gleam in Aro's eyes as he looked back at his large family, letting his gaze rest on his brothers, "Caius, Marcus, Carlisle, come. We have things to discuss."

-

I was sat in a state room of the castle, my hands bound, my feet, thankfully, free.

And I was alone.

Q wouldn't have to worry about an escape attempt, having stationed guards at every exit, every entrance, everywhere. I sighed as I brought both my hands up to wipe away the hair that had fallen into my face. Before I'd been imprisoned in this slightly nicer cell, they'd promised me a bath, a bed that wasn't made of bricks, and a pillow that wasn't infested with fleas.

So far, I'd seen none of the above.

I could hear the guards speaking outside the door, and the party still going on down the hall. It was winding down—for the sun was already peeking through the windows, and people were beginning to grow tired. I wondered if the rich partied until dawn all the time, or if this was a rare occasion.

What were they celebrating anyhow? The death of Renee, woman of the rebellion? The capture of Charles' daughter? A birthday? A wedding? The possibilities were endless, and my mind tired of running through them just as the door at the other end of the room creaked open.

I knew as well as she that she shouldn't be in here. Her face was creased with worry, her lip between her teeth an obvious give away of that anxiety. She was a lovely little nymph with her hair short, her golden eyes wild, and her face filled with youthful joviality. That is until her joy slipped away and our eyes connected.

She walked towards me, her gait nervous as her gaze. Her knees hit the floor softly, elegantly, and her hands found mine, "Isabella, isn't it?"

I made a noise of assent, wondering what exactly she was doing in here. We were enemies after all, and she had no reason to pity me. But pity me she did, for I could feel it in her freezing touch.

"They shouldn't have you tied up like this," she muttered to herself, "you're not some common rabble."

"And if I was?" I whispered, "would it be okay if I were tied up then?"

She looked up at me, abashed of her words, "I suppose not." Unlike all the other women I'd known, she did not blush as I corrected her.

"So which one are you?" I asked, pulling my hands from hers, "Rosalie? Selene? Alice?"

She nodded once, shortly, "Alice."

"You waste your time in here, Alice. Were I in your place, I would not pity you."

She smiled then, a small, delicate blossom, "You would," she said slowly.

"Why are you here?" I asked, ignoring her statement. Of course I would pity her. It wasn't her fault, after all, that her family was a bunch of power-hungry individuals. It wasn't her fault that her Uncle had decided that he did not have enough with just England. No, he needed Ireland and Scotland under his belt too.

"Just to see the mysterious prisoner," she gave a fake smile, "so that I can tell everyone all about you later, of course."

I glowered, "Really."

She sucked in her lower lip, "To say sorry," she breathed, "for your mother, Renee."

I looked away from the girl at my feet and towards the far door she'd entered from, "Who was it that killed her?"

"A general. Marx."

Marx. I'd remember that name.

The door once again creaked open, and Alice rose in one, fluid motion, facing it. She looked so much the warrior now, no emotion evident on her face. She'd become a blank slate, and had she not been asking my forgiveness moments before, I would not think her so kind.

"Lady?" A man had entered, his fatigues those of a warrior, "how did you get in here? And why?"

She shrugged her shoulders, faintly lowering her head, "Just speaking with Isabella."

The man cast a quick look in my direction, then back at Alice, "Jasper is looking high and low for you," he smiled a bit, showing pearly white teeth, "…something about a game of gin in Rosalie's front room."

Alice's mouth spread into a sweet smile, "That sounds nice," when she turned back to me, she was frowning, "good night, Isabella."

I did not answer her, merely dropped my head a little lower to my chest, feeling the strain of the chair on my back. I watched her feet move, carrying her to the door where I watched her slip by the guard. He winked at me, smirking, before he shut the door, leaving me in solitude once again.

"Jerk," I muttered, slouching back into my seat. I could have gotten up, moved around, but what was the point? The windows did not open—weren't ever meant to. And I was not so small as a mouse that I could scurry out through their holes.

I sat in the room for what seemed like a lifetime, watching as the candelabras dwindle down to nothing, extinguishing themselves. The sun rose, slightly tinged pink, over the horizon and illuminated the room. My wrists were beginning to chafe, and I shifted uncomfortably, wanting to go to the door, to demand that they tell me what was happening.

Were the brothers still deliberating? Or was this my sentence, to be, literally bored to death?

Just as I let my head fall back over the spine of the chair, the door once again opened, revealing two of the four brothers.

"Isabella," Aro greeted me with false cheer, his dark crimson eyes alight with mischief. Carlisle said nothing, merely seated himself on the window sill and watched me, his golden eyes reminding me of his daughter in law. Her kindness had been genuine, but why?

"What's the verdict, Aro?" I drawled, exhaustion creeping into my tone, "or are you just on an intermission?"

He chuckled, sitting down in a chair that had been placed before me when I'd first been brought in to this dreadful room, "No, no. We've decided that its best if you stay here with us," he smiled, his papery skin echoing it threefold, "not as a prisoner, of course, but a guest. Perhaps you will be able to tell Charles that life beneath my rule is not as bad as he describes."

I shook my head, "That's doubtful. Very doubtful, Aro, and you know it," I narrowed my eyes, my tongue tripping as it tried to keep up with my mind, "what are you playing at?"

He stood, coming forward to release me of my bonds, "Nothing, dear girl, whatever would make you think this was some sort of game?"

I sunk deeper into the lavender water of the bath, feeling very much the traitor. My father was out there now, fighting for my freedom, and I was bathing in the enemy's castle. Did he know I was here, under Aro's watchful eye? Had word reached him of my capture?

My mind wandered back to Ireland, to the little path that led to the village my family had fled to after the invasion. My father had been welcomed there with open arms, people only too happy to have their exiled king among them. Renee, a Scot, had gone back to her people for a while after war broke out—just until things blew over. It wasn't that they were in love—theirs being an arranged marriage—but Charlie and Renee were tied to each other in a way that was beyond words. She'd come back almost immediately, claiming to have missed me, but her eyes were only for Charlie.

I thought back to Old Billy as well, my father's best friend whose right eye had been taken out in the Battle of Journeyed River. To his son, Jacob, who was my age… He was most prominent in my memories of home, his kind, handsome face easy to recall. We'd been inseparable before I'd volunteered to take up the position of maid in the Congressman's household. He was the boy who gave me my first kiss, who first told me he loved me. Even though he knew I would never love him in return.

I ran a hand through my dark hair, feeling the silky strands slip between my fingers. I hadn't been this clean in a while, and I reveled in the feeling of purity. My dirtied clothes lay in a pile at the foot of the tub, the smell coming from them a stark contrast to the delicious aromas drifting up from my bath. Taking a lavender flower into my palm, I smoothed the petals with a course finger, allowing myself to smile.

The castle was beautiful, rich in its culture. I wondered what kings had dwelled here before the family Volturi. Catharine of Aragon had been exiled here, I knew, after her divorce from her husband. And her daughter, Mary, had once called this place home.

"You're going to shrivel up like a prune."

I gasped, my arms immediately wrapping around my chest. My eyes narrowed, and I looked up at the intruder.

My resolve hardly lasted, for how can one glare into eyes of an angel? The man, no, the demigod, stood at the end of the bathtub, his stature that of a war lord. Gods, but he was beautiful, like no man could ever compare. Auburn hair clouded his eyes of golden rod, and his skin was paler than snow, smoother than alabaster. His face was entirely too handsome, like the man from Shakespeare's most famous sonnet. Had he a material face, this would be it.

"Did you hear me?" he asked, "you're going to wilt in there."

My voice suddenly felt ugly, insignificant when compared to his velveteen lilt. But, of course, I answered anyway, in the breathiest of whispers, "Who are you?"

He rolled his eyes, and I wondered how long he'd been watching me, exactly, "Your new bodyguard," he drawled, crossing his strong arms over his chest. I blew out a sharp breath, staring at him with new found loathing. Pretty or not, I didn't need to be babysat by a soldier.

"What were you doing anyways?" I bit out, "don't you know how to knock?"

He raised one eyebrow, looking down at my form through the water, "I do. I just chose not to."

I snorted, "Get out."

He could only smile, a crooked one at that, "Sure thing, Princess. I'll wait for you in the state room."

I gave him a scathing glare as he turned on his heel, leaving the big bathroom in two strides. Slowly, I rose, feeling the chill erupt over my body. Grabbing an oversized towel from on top of the hamper, I wrapped it around myself as I laid one hand on the doorway.

The god-man was sitting on one of the couches in my stateroom, one leg crossed over the other, his head resting on the spine. I watched him as I progressed into the bedroom, and not once did he turn to look at me.

I slipped a peasant's dress over my head, smoothing down the creases as it settled loosely over my body. At first, the maids had brought in exquisite dresses made of silk and cotton, but I'd asked—very nicely—if I could have only their simplest fashions.

He was still merely sitting as I walked back out into the main room, but his head turned this time, and his eyes roamed over my body. I felt naked beneath his intense gaze, those eyes piercing through my flesh.

"Sit," he told me, motioning to the loveseat across from him. I folded my hands across my lap as I settled myself into the seat, looking up at him through my lashes. He stared back momentarily, only looking, not speaking, before he began.

"Aro has assigned me to you," he told me, disgust evident in his tone, "my name is Edward…"

"Wait a second," I growled, cutting off his words, "Edward, as in Edward II of the family Volturi?"

He nodded once, shortly, "The same."

I recoiled, my back hitting the chair forcefully, "I don't want you."

He shook his head, a nasty grimace twisting his perfect lips, "And you think I want to be your guard dog?" he gave a short, precise chuckle, "I think not."

"You've slaughtered countless Scots, and even more of my countrymen…" I was shaking my head before I even noticed, a true feeling of nausea overcoming me, "and Aro thinks I can be civil with you, spend every moment in your company?" Standing, I looked down at him, "tell him he can either find me someone else, or let me go."

Edward rose as well, towering over me, "I'm not your messenger."

"No, but right now, you're my bodyguard. Does that not mean you have to do as I say?" I crossed my arms over my chest, moving my gaze from his collarbone to his eyes that were burning with fury.

"No," he hissed.

I exhaled harshly, and Edward took one step back in a blindingly fast movement, catching me off guard. My head whipped around to look at him, and I caught the slow, swirling change of his eyes from amber to black—a flat black that reminded me of Kee Lake at midnight. I stepped back as well, but not so fast, and not so obviously, "Sorry," I snarled, "I didn't know I offended you so."

He was quick to answer, "You don't offend me."

I rolled my eyes, "Could've fooled me."

There was no emotion in his eyes as he took a wide arc to move around me. I watched him go, the slam of the door an awakening to my intuition. Edward had been an asshole at first. Then irritated. Then irate. But why?

My fingers traced the ancient indentations of the wall outside my room as I teetered on the threshold. Should I stay here, where I knew Aro wanted me? Or should I move about the castle freely, as if I were a daughter of this house? My toes pressed into the carpet—barefoot was the proffered state—and I took a tentative step out. I wanted to explore, to find things that could be of potential help to the rebellion—building plans, battle journals, ammunition, flaws in the castle's design. Anything that would show my father that I hadn't betrayed him by letting myself live here.

But hey, it's not as if I could just get out of here. And it's not as if I could have helped being caught after killing the Congressman. And it wasn't as if I asked to not be hung. That had been all on Q, on Aro. Therefore, completely out of my control.

"What are you doing?"

I visibly deflated, turning my head to look down the other end of the hallway.

Oh, him.

My arms came instinctively over my chest, and I settled into a comfortable glare. He sighed, running a hand through his hair, reciprocating my aggression. At least we shared something, even if it was a mutual loathing.

It was a short second—more than one, less than two—in which I could only appreciate his flawlessness. I didn't understand how this wolf in sheep's clothing could be so utterly attractive. Even Jacob, beautiful, bronze Jake, could not compare. I felt like no one I'd ever see could ever compare, ever.

And oddly enough, I found my tension ease the tiniest bit, the absolute tiniest.

"So… where are the kitchens?"

And the sun will set for you

The sun will set for you

And the shadow of the day

Will embrace the world in grey

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