Chapter 102: The Gathering Part Eight

The speeches had concluded.

The grand ballroom now buzzed with conversation. Hundreds of vampires moving about, working to shake off the tension of the day while still wondering what would happen next, with the voting set to begin imminently.

Tables had been brought out once again, lined with refreshments, which were eagerly being scooped up. Bella was grateful when Edward handed her a glass filled to the brim with her favorite drink. She sipped it slowly, letting herself relax as her eyes drifted to the far side of the room, where a row of curtained voting booths had been set up—modern and clean, their distinctly human design feeling almost out of place in the grandeur of the ballroom. She smiled at the sight, reminded of the last presidential election she'd voted in.

A handful of vampires had been asked to stand watch, to keep an eye on things and make sure everything went smoothly. There would be no shenanigans.

She stood with Edward, Emmett, and Rosalie, talking quietly while the ballots were being finalized and printed. All around her, vampires mingled—talking, gesturing, laughing—some pacing with quiet anticipation, others already comparing names and opinions.

"It was incredible," Rosalie's voice pulled her back into their conversation. "Last night, in the back of the Volturi's garage—completely buried under canvas tarps and old crates—I found a 1937 Alfa Romeo 8C 2900B. One of the original berlinettas. Only a handful were ever built, and this one's all there. I doubt any of the Volturi even pulled the cover off since the forties."

Intrigued, Bella couldn't help but ask, "Was it in good shape?"

Rosalie gave a measured nod, her eyes lighting up. "Mechanically? I doubt it would fire up as it sits, but the frame's intact, and the parts are original. It needs a full restoration after years of neglect. If the new council allows it, I'd love to take it on—restore it fully, and maybe they could donate it to a museum. A car like that deserves to be seen and remembered. It's a true piece of art."

Edward raised an eyebrow. "Do you think they'll go for it?"

"I plan to make a very compelling case," Rosalie replied smoothly, then added with a touch of pride, "Besides, I'm sure none of them know how to fix a berlinetta."

Bella smiled, the easy banter grounding her. For all the intensity of what the day represented, there was something deeply comforting about this—vampires talking about old cars, elections, and museums. A reminder that even here, life could still feel normal.

And yet, the gravity of what came next lingered. Choices were about to be made. History was about to be written.

A clear chime rang out across the ballroom, cutting through the hum of conversation. One of the monitors stepped forward to announce that voting was officially open, and almost immediately, a line began to form near the curtained booths.

All around them, the tone shifted—casual murmurs gave way to a charged anticipation. The buzz of laughter and lingering debate faded into something quieter, more focused. Vampires from every corner of the world now stood side by side, ready to cast the first votes of this new era.

Bella stood beside Edward, watching the crowd move with purpose. She glanced at him—his expression unreadable at first, but the slight curve at the corners of his mouth betrayed the same emotion tightening in her own chest.

"You look excited," she murmured, leaning close enough to speak softly into his ear.

Edward's smile deepened. "I am. You know… this is actually my first time voting. I was too young when I was human, and afterward, I never really felt part of the human world."

Bella tilted her head, amused by his quiet reflection. "Do you know who you're voting for?" she whispered, her voice low and playful.

"I think so—" he began, but she cut him off with a raised eyebrow and a smirk.

"Oh no. Secret ballot. No spoilers. Just pick who you think will do the best job. That's all we can hope for."

He chuckled and nodded. A moment later, the line moved forward, and one of the booths opened. Edward stepped in, drawing the curtain closed behind him.

She waited patiently, taking in the scene—the soft shuffle of shoes on polished stone, the faint rustle of paper. Then, another booth became available.

Bella stepped forward and pulled the curtain closed behind her. The air inside was still—hushed, like a confessional. She looked down at the ballot in her hand: crisp paper, clean ink, a long series of names beside empty oval circles.

She laid it on the small writing ledge in front of her and took a breath.

Looking at the long list of names, the first thing she noted—with a profound sense of relief—was that her name wasn't among them. Thank God. Scanning the names again, more carefully this time, she nodded to herself and closed her eyes to gather her thoughts. This was a big decision; they were choosing the first true leaders their kind had ever known—leaders who would steer their race toward something they'd never experienced before: a democracy.

She exhaled softly and opened her eyes, her decision crystallizing clearly. The first choice, at least, was simple. She filled in the circle beside Garrett's name without hesitation. In her mind, he seemed as close to perfect for the role as anyone could possibly get—passionate, honest, and utterly genuine.

Her second choice felt nearly as effortless. Bella knew she wanted a woman on the council, but the truth was, Siobhan would have been her pick regardless of gender. In their conversations, she'd come across as poised, intelligent, and impressively fair-minded—all qualities vital in a leader. And then there was the presentation factor—Siobhan had a natural air of authority, exactly how she envisioned a leader should carry themselves. Garrett, on the other hand, still reminded her of a pirate. With his roguish grin and gruff charm, all he was missing was the eyepatch and the parrot on his shoulder to complete her vision of him. But she figured their strengths would balance out nicely. With a nod, she filled in the circle beside Siobhan's name.

It was the third choice that gave her pause. She had been genuinely surprised when Garrett had nominated Jean Paul toward the end of the speeches, delivering a passionate address about why he belonged on the council—something he hadn't even done for himself. Over the past week, it had never occurred to her to ask Jean Paul if he was even interested in the position or the responsibility that came with it. She had no doubt he'd excel—he was level-headed, cultured, and wise—but she couldn't shake the feeling that he might be too similar to Garrett and Siobhan. If the council ever found itself in a situation where diplomacy failed—and she knew all too well how quickly vampire conflicts could escalate beyond words—she wasn't sure if any of them had that necessary ruthless edge.

She tapped the pen against her lower lip, considering carefully. She was pretty sure Garrett could fight—being close friends with Peter pretty much guaranteed that—but Jean Paul? And Siobhan? That was harder to imagine.

Then her gaze fell on Jasper's name, and she couldn't hold back a faint smile. Peter had nominated him—much to Jasper's obvious chagrin, if his stone-faced expression during Peter's enthusiastic and quite colorful endorsement extolling The Major's virtues on stage was anything to judge by. Still, even if Jasper didn't immediately spring to mind as a typical ruler, she knew beyond any doubt he was a good man. More importantly, he had a brilliant, strategic mind, and there wasn't a vampire alive more capable of handling complicated and potentially volatile situations. Add to that his empathic ability to smooth over tense moments, and he might be exactly who the council needed.

And maybe, just maybe, he could finally put an end to the Southern vampire wars, which were somehow still going on for some mysterious reason.

Decision made, she filled in Jasper's circle decisively, feeling a sense of satisfaction as she looked down at her completed ballot and nodded approvingly. She'd made the right choices. She was sure of it.

Pulling open the curtain, she stepped out and made her way to the ballot box. Its polished wooden surface gleamed as she approached. It sat on a simple table, surrounded by vampires standing guard to protect the integrity of the vote. A gentle weight settled in her chest—the magnitude of the moment undeniable—as she carefully slipped her ballot into the narrow opening.

As the paper disappeared, Bella glanced up to see Kate seated behind the table, a mischievous glint in her eyes. Kate's smile widened as she held out a small, brightly colored sticker proudly stating I Voted. Unable to help herself, Bella laughed quietly, shaking her head in amusement as she accepted it. With deliberate ceremony, she slapped it onto her chest, smoothing it down with exaggerated care.

Spotting Edward leaning comfortably against a marble pillar, his own sticker already affixed to his shirt, she felt her steps quicken. The corner of his mouth tugged into a smile as she approached. She slipped into his waiting arms, breathing in deeply, taking comfort from his familiar scent.

"You happy with your choices?" she whispered softly, her lips brushing lightly against his ear.

Edward tightened his hold around her, pulling her closer, and she felt his breath ghost warmly against her neck as he murmured back, "Very. Though, I hope you don't mind—I filled in Starshield as a write-in candidate."

She stiffened instinctively for half a second before registering the unmistakable humor coloring his voice. Regardless, she squeezed him just a little tighter, earning a quiet grunt of discomfort from him. Pulling back enough to meet his gaze, she matched his wide, teasing grin with one of her own.

"You better not have," she warned, mock severity lacing her tone. "We're leaving tomorrow. This castle might be nice, but there's no way I'm getting stuck here for the next fifty years. You and I have places to go and people to drain."

Edward threw his head back in laughter, his ruby eyes sparkling warmly down at her. "I don't think I could've said that better myself."

Renée's hand covered her mouth, fighting to keep her laughter from spilling out. She hadn't met Tanya yet, but after Bella's whispered tale of vampire orgies, she was more than a little curious. Anyone who could ruffle her daughter's feathers that much—but still leave her grinning like that—was someone worth getting the measure of. But the mental image of Stefan and Vladimir involved in... anything like that... together—made her shudder. Just the thought of it gave her the heebie-jeebies.

All the votes had been cast. Now, the entire ballroom buzzed with the hushed tension of waiting—vampires lingering in clusters, their voices low, eyes occasionally flicking toward the main doors, waiting for them to swing open with the results in hand. Somewhere in the depths of the castle, the ballots were being tallied. Renée had watched the sealed box leave the room under heavy guard—no less than ten vampires escorting it like it contained state secrets. She smiled. In a way, it did.

For all the unity the week had inspired, it was clear many still didn't entirely trust one another. Too many centuries of watching their backs, maybe. Or maybe it was just in their nature. Either way, Renée wasn't worried. She had faith in the process. And more importantly, she had Bella standing right beside her.

She let her hand rest lightly on Bella's arm, her gloved fingers brushing against the smooth silk of her daughter's sleeve. Edward stood just a step away, deep in conversation with Jean Paul—who appeared to be enthusiastically pitching him on something academic or architectural. But for now, she saw her opening.

"So," she began sweetly, voice laced with calculated innocence. "Where are you and Edward off to next?"

Bella arched an eyebrow. Renée just smiled wider.

"You know," she continued, tone lilting, "Paris is lovely in September. The Seine, the museums, wine you can't drink… and we could celebrate your birthday properly. Just the four of us."

She was hopeful. But the more she thought about it, the more she realized she might be working the wrong angle. Bella could be stubborn when she wanted to be. Edward, on the other hand… if things were heading where she very much suspected they were, it might be time to start applying a little mother-in-law pressure.

Bella grinned. "I'm sure Paris would be amazing. But Edward and I are flying back to Texas with Peter and Char. We'll be staying with them for a while. I also want to take Edward to Phoenix, show him the house. Make sure everything's still ship-shape there." She paused, then smiled again. "Don't worry, Mom—we'll visit again before you start missing us too much."

She nodded, about to respond, when movement on the stage caught her attention. A group of vampires had begun to gather beneath the massive arched beams, forming a semicircle behind the microphone.

"Ooh," she breathed, her voice rising with excitement, "it looks like the results are in. Come—sit with Jean Paul and me. Who do you think got in?"

Bella grinned as she and Jean Paul switched spots so she was next to Edward. "I don't know, but I think we're about to find out."

They all sat down—luckily, they had been standing in the front row, just in front of the stage.

Renée slipped her arm through Jean Paul's, giving it a small squeeze. He had worked so hard these past few weeks to get them to this moment. Behind them, the crowd rustled—attendees settling into chairs, voices hushed, all eyes drawn to the stage. The energy in the room had shifted—no longer celebratory, but taut with anticipation.

Onstage, Carolina stepped forward. Her tall frame cut a commanding silhouette against the velvet backdrop, her dark curls pinned back with an emerald comb. Renée remembered the first time they'd met in London, two winters ago. She'd found Carolina warm and clever, but her husband Alistair had been... prickly, to put it kindly. Jean Paul had explained later—how he'd been betrayed centuries ago, and had never quite gotten over his suspicious nature. She supposed not everyone wore their wounds as gracefully as others.

Renée lifted her gloved hand in greeting, giving a little wave, and was delighted to see Carolina catch her eye and smile in return before turning toward the microphone.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Carolina began, her voice clear and steady, carrying easily across the vast room, "I'm pleased to announce that we have the official results from our first election for ruling council leadership."

The room fell utterly still.

"These results," Carolina continued, "have been double, triple—and yes, quadruple—checked by the monitors beside me." She gestured to the small group of solemn-faced vampires, and Renée spotted little Maggie standing among them. That sealed it—whatever the outcome, the results were going to be the truth. "I'll be announcing the winners in no particular order."

She paused. Dramatically.

Renée found herself leaning slightly forward, resisting the urge to whisper to Jean Paul that they should have hired a drummer. A drumroll would have been perfect right now.

Carolina smiled, clearly enjoying the attention, then continued, "We are pleased to announce that the first vampire elected to the council is… Garrett."

The response was immediate. A cheer erupted from the crowd, followed by a wave of applause that rolled through the ballroom like thunder. Renée turned in her seat to catch the moment as Garrett rose from a few rows behind them. Kate had already launched herself into his arms, hugging him tightly as he laughed, trying to disentangle himself enough to offer a modest wave.

He looked completely overwhelmed—and thoroughly delighted.

Renée couldn't help but smile, her hands coming together in applause. A fine choice—Garrett still looked every bit the patriot, but now he'd have to add politician to the list, as the cheers continued to echo off the walls.

"Congratulations, Garrett," Carolina continued as the noise slowly ebbed. "I'm sure you'll do all of us proud over the next fifty years."

Renée turned her attention back to the stage just as Carolina looked ready to announce the next name.

"And now," Carolina proclaimed with a wide smile, "the next individual who will be joining Garrett on the council is… Siobhan of the Irish coven."

Another wave of cheers erupted, just as enthusiastic. Renée clapped excitedly and turned to her left, where, two seats over, Siobhan was rising from her seat. Liam sat between them, looking like he'd just been struck by lightning—frozen in place even as Siobhan threw her arms around him. Renée laughed, delighted for her friend, as Liam finally regained awareness and Siobhan straightened, lifting one arm to wave graciously to the attendees.

"Congratulations!" Renée shouted, even though she was certain Siobhan couldn't hear her over the noise.

She couldn't help but imagine the headlines.

Vampires Elect First Queen

She grinned. Now that a friend had been elected, she and Jean Paul would definitely be visiting more often.

As the applause faded again, Carolina's voice rose above the settling crowd.

"I'm glad we finally have a woman in charge." Carolina looked directly at Siobhan and gave a wink as the latter returned to her seat. "You're going to do great."

Then she raised both hands, quieting the room for the final announcement.

"And finally…" She paused, her voice lowering just enough to draw the room in. "I'm pleased to announce that joining Garrett and Siobhan on the council is none other than… Jean Paul Moreau."

Renée blinked.

What?

Her brain hiccupped—had she heard wrong? But Carolina's words still hung in the air, perfectly clear, refusing to shift into anything else.

Jean Paul?

Her Jean Paul.

She turned to him, needing to see his face to believe it—he sat there frozen, eyes wide, his expression mirroring her own stunned disbelief.

Everything else faded. The air, the room, the noise. It was all background now.

She was already moving, throwing her arms around him, practically launching herself into his lap as the crowd erupted again.

"Oh my god!" she shouted, loud and bright and bursting with joy. "Honey, you did it!"

Jean Paul stood, still dazed, as she clung to him, too overwhelmed to do anything but beam. The applause swelled around them, dim and distant, like sound underwater. She caught the vague impression of Bella and Edward beside them—clapping and smiling—but the details barely registered. Her whole world had narrowed to the man at her side and the quiet awe blooming across his face.

When they finally sank back into their seats, it was as if the room snapped back into focus. Somehow, impossibly—her husband had just been elected to lead them all.

Renée reached blindly for his hand, still not entirely convinced she hadn't imagined the whole thing.

Liam had never felt prouder.

The thunder of applause rolled through the ballroom, but it barely registered—he had eyes only for Siobhan. His mate. No… now his queen. She stood radiant with joy, acknowledging the crowd, her name still echoing off the stone walls. The first freely elected ruling council in vampire history—and she had been chosen. That warm, crackling feeling in his chest had to be pride. Or awe. Or both.

When she finally sat back down beside him, her hand slipped into his. He gave it a firm squeeze. This was it. The pinnacle of their long lives together.

Then Jean Paul's name was announced.

Liam blinked in surprise, then nodded to himself. It made sense. He liked Jean Paul—measured, respectful, sharp. He clapped hard, joining Siobhan as she leaned forward to applaud their friend. A solid choice. Jean Paul had presence. He had grace. He and Garr—

"Oh my God!"

That voice.

Renée.

He had forgotten about Renée.

He turned just in time to see Renée pivot away from Jean Paul—beaming, mid-sentence—and land directly in his line of vision. Before he could brace himself, her gloved hand landed on his shoulder, anchoring her excitement squarely on him.

"Can you believe it?" she beamed, breathless with excitement. "We get to live here for the next fifty years! Oh, this is going to be so much fun—I mean, can you imagine—!"

She kept talking, but Liam had stopped hearing.

Fifty years.

Fifty years...

Living in the same castle as Renée.

Every meeting. Every ceremony. Every shared meal.

And it wasn't just casual proximity—no, Renée and Siobhan were becoming actual friends. The kind of friends who went out together. Who visited each other's homes. Who shared stories, and jokes, and...

Gods help him.

He had tried—truly tried—to let it go. But every time he looked at Renée, all he could see was that first moment. The moment she'd touched Siobhan. When her ability surged through her without warning, and his composed, commanding mate had unraveled—reduced to a gasping, shuddering mess in front of everyone. He wouldn't even call it ecstasy. It had been something raw, overwhelming… intimate in a way that wasn't right. Something that should have been for his eyes alone.

She was still talking.

Still glowing.

He froze.

She had launched herself at him and was now hugging him. His arms stayed at his sides. Shoulders locked. Spine straight. He waited, terrified, for the unthinkable to happen.

"Isn't it amazing, Liam?" she sang, pulling back, face beaming. "We get to all live here together for the next half century!"

That smile. So bright. So happy. So blissfully unaware of the existential crisis currently consuming him.

He opened his mouth. Nothing came out.

And then it happened.

A blurry shape moved behind Renée. His focus shifted, unbidden, sliding away from her still-moving mouth to the figure leaning forward behind her.

Bella.

Her crimson eyes locked onto his, piercing straight through him. Cold. Blank. And for the first time he could remember, she wasn't smiling.

She didn't look angry.

Just… aware.

Deeply—terrifyingly—aware.

She'd seen him.

Seen through him.

Into him.

Every thought he'd had about her mother—she knew.

A cold dread washed over him.

Starshield...

The Destroyer...

Renée's daughter...

And Renée was still smiling, clearly waiting for a response.

He forced the words out, brittle and unsure. "I… I can't believe it either."

That seemed to satisfy her. She turned back to Jean Paul, already chattering again—something about curtains, possibly?

Bella, though… Bella hadn't looked away.

Her gaze lingered, sharp as a blade, until—finally—she slowly eased back beside Edward, seemingly appeased.

Liam closed his eyes, drawing in a breath that wasn't nearly as steady as he'd hoped.

Fifty years

It was only fifty years.

For a vampire, that was nothing.

He opened his eyes again and found himself staring at the white marble in front of the stage.

What were they going to do?

He exhaled silently, the edges of a prayer forming in his mind, soft and desperate.

Please let me make it out of Volterra… alive.

Night had settled over the quiet city of Volterra, cloaking the rooftops and stone alleys in shadow. Vampires from every continent were now departing, the sound of farewells fading as the hallways slowly emptied of their guests from the past week. Soon, everyone would be on the long journey back to their respective corners of the world. The gathering had officially ended the night before, yet many had chosen to stay through the day—reveling in the celebration and in the shared sense of a new beginning.

Bella was glad she'd come. Glad she'd let herself be talked into it. With the week behind her, she could admit it now—she would've regretted missing this. Not the speeches, or the politicking, but the people. Vampires she'd never met before—some of whom she hoped would become friends and remain in her life for the years to come.

She and Edward were packed and ready to leave. But for now, she walked beside Jean Paul. Their conversation was easy, winding through different subjects, but mostly circling back to what the next fifty years might actually look like.

He reached for the door ahead and held it open. She gave a small nod in thanks as she stepped into what had once been the throne room. The vast space was empty now. No Volturi banners. No guards. Just stone and silence. The pillars loomed overhead, stripped of their old weight. For a moment, Bella stood still, letting her eyes trace the bones of the room. It didn't feel like the place she'd first walked into months ago. It felt like a place waiting for a new purpose.

"So how long before you demand everyone call you Your Majesty, oh exalted one?" Bella asked, the corner of her mouth tugging upward. She'd been teasing Jean Paul ever since the results had been announced. Truthfully, she couldn't have been happier—for him and her mom. And judging by her mom's perpetual grin, they were both going to love living in the castle.

Jean Paul chuckled warmly, the sound echoing softly in the open chamber. "Oh, I doubt that will happen." He folded his hands behind his back as they walked. "I'm sure they only voted for me to stay on your good side. A bit of political insurance."

Her smile faded. "Don't say that." She stopped, her voice insistent. "They voted for you because they believe in you. I do too. You, Garrett, and Siobhan—you're exactly who we need right now. And everyone in that ballroom last night knew it and voted accordingly."

He inclined his head in quiet acceptance. "Thank you, Bella." His voice dipped, sincere. "It's still strange, though—my life has changed so much in a single decade. And it's all thanks to you."

She met his eyes. "You've changed mine too, Jean Paul. I don't think Mom would've ever asked to be changed if it weren't for you. You made her want forever, and I'll always be grateful for that."

They reached the center of the room, their footsteps soft against the marble floor. Bella glanced upward toward the windows—high, elegant arches designed to let in just enough daylight to illuminate the space, yet angled perfectly to avoid making them all sparkle like freaks. She had to admit, the craftsmanship was brilliant. The whole room was. And yet, it felt hollow now. Abandoned.

Her gaze lowered. "So," she asked, her voice quieter now, "what do you think you'll do with this place? Since the council won't be holding court here anymore?"

Jean Paul let out a quiet sigh as his eyes drifted across the space. "I'm not sure." The weight of the room pressed faintly into his voice. "The wounds the Volturi inflicted here are still so fresh. I think this place needs to rest for a while—maybe one day it can be repurposed, but not yet."

Bella stood beside him in silence, her gaze following his as he continued.

"I haven't discussed it with the others, but I know I don't want to conduct council business from this room. It's irrational, I know—the Volturi are gone. But some part of me still expects that if I turn around, I'll see Aro sitting behind me." He gave a faint shake of his head, jaw tightening. "The Volturi were corrupt in so many ways, but beyond all their faults, they did maintain order. Now we'll have to find the right balance. If anything, we'll probably overcompensate—bend over backward just to prove we're not like them."

That much she believed.

He glanced toward the far end of the room. "Garrett, Siobhan, and I talked last night while everyone was celebrating the success of the evening. We started drafting a list of names—attendees we trust, vampires we think might want to work here. We'll still need help. It won't be like the guard anymore, but we still have to maintain order. The difference is, now the positions will be real jobs—filled by merit, not through fear or coercion."

"That's good to hear—but just a word of advice. Don't make them wear anything stupid. The guard looked ridiculous in those getups Aro had them wearing. A badge should be more than enough."

She gave a satisfied nod to herself, relieved. It felt like things were finally settling again in the vampire world. Not to what it once was, but to something better.

Her gaze lifted to the high, arched windows above. The sun had dipped low, leaving only the faintest remnants of its warmth across the glass. Dusk had painted the sky in muted silvers and dusky blues, and she smiled, a quiet decision taking root.

She'd wondered what the view looked like from up there ever since her first time in the throne room. Turning to Jean Paul, the corner of her mouth curved into a sly smirk. "Hey, want to see something few ever have?"

Before he could respond, she placed a flat shield beneath their feet—and they began to rise.

Caught off guard, Jean Paul instinctively bent his knees, arms flexing as he steadied himself before he could tip over. She stifled a laugh, her eyes already lifting upward as they glided higher—past the marble columns, past the golden candlelight, past the empty hangers where the Volturi banners had once hung. The frescoed ceiling drew closer with every breath, the painted scenes of conquest and tyranny growing sharper in detail.

Then, the windows came into view—and the world opened up before them.

To the left and right, the castle stretched outward in sweeping stone wings. From here, she could see the tops of the highest towers—sharp spires, weathered stone, and balconies that jutted out like they belonged in a storybook. Only from this height could she really take in the scale of it. She wished she could've seen it being built. They didn't make anything like this anymore.

Beyond the castle, the rooftops of Volterra unfurled like a mosaic—terracotta tiles catching the last blue wash of the sky. The city, always held back under the Volturi's thumb, now breathed quietly, timeless and undisturbed.

Farther still, the rolling hills of Tuscany stretched to the horizon—soft and endless, a living painting brushed in twilight. Patches of olive groves and vineyards glowed faintly in the fading light, and in the distance, where land and sky blurred together, the final trace of the sun lingered—pale gold and vanishing.

"It's beautiful," Jean Paul murmured, but as he ran his finger along the edge of the window, his brow lifted. "Though I think we might need to hire a cleaning crew. Judging by this windowsill, no one's dusted this area in a millennium."

Bella laughed. "Well, I'll leave that to you, Your Highness. I already did my part cleaning up the throne room the last time I was here." Her eyes drifted downward, following the dizzying drop to the marble floor far below. "But you guys might have to invest in the world's longest ladder to get up here again."

She guided them to a few other windows so they could take in more of the view before gradually lowering them back down.

As their feet touched the ground, Jean Paul took a tentative step forward before turning toward her with a smile. "Thanks for the experience. You always make life interesting, Bella. What time are you and Edward heading out?"

"I'm not sure," she replied. "Peter and Char are off saying goodbye to Alice and Jasper. Apparently, it's fall fashion season somewhere nearby, and Alice couldn't resist. None of them had ever set foot in Italy before this week, so… Alice is calling it their sixth honeymoon."

She glanced around. "Speaking of missing people—where's my mom?"

Jean Paul huffed, but the wide smile on his face gave him away. "She and Siobhan are trying to sort out who gets which suite." He gave a casual shrug. "Aro, Caius, and Marcus each had the largest living areas in the castle, each one in a different wing. Garrett said he didn't care which one he ended up with, then quickly left with Kate—they went to Rome to see Tanya and Irina off, who are headed back to Alaska."

Bella's grin widened. "So, of the three, which one are you hoping for? I think I've got a pretty good read on what Aro's place is like—some solid gold monstrosity. Hopefully one of you guys is into gaudy. Caius's is harder to picture, but for some reason, I'm seeing a bunch of ancient torture devices instead of furniture. Marcus's is probably the most normal… though I'm guessing it hasn't had a renovation in a few centuries."

Jean Paul gave a small shrug, his tone light but sincere. "Personally, I'm hoping for Marcus's suite—but we'll see what the ladies decide. They're going to be the true rulers of Volterra, after all." His smile deepened, something warm flickering behind it. "I'm just glad they get along so well now. Considering how things started between them, it could've made for a very long fifty years."

He exhaled through his nose, shaking his head with the tired fondness of a man who'd seen too much. "Now, if Liam would just learn to relax around Renée, we might actually have peace around here. I'd bet anything he's trailing after them right now, trying to wedge himself between them like some overprotective chaperone."

"I think he'll come around," she murmured. "Mom might be a bit much for someone as tightly wound as Liam, but eventually he'll see she means well." Her smile tugged wider. "The queens of Volterra… I've got to admit, it has a nice ring to it."

She glanced at Jean Paul with a knowing smirk. "Hey, at least it's not going to come as a surprise to you."

Thinking of her mom, Bella leaned in slightly, her voice dropping as she spoke with quiet insistence. "Speaking of Mom—promise me you'll make sure she keeps working on her superpower. You must realize, as I do, that if she continues to improve it, she's going to be damn near unstoppable." Her eyes narrowed, her tone certain. "I can see where her power is headed, and it puts what the Wonder Twins could do to shame."

Jean Paul nodded. "I know exactly what you mean." A wry smile tugged at his mouth. "Thankfully, she enjoys using it. It might not be the kind of training you had in mind—but a man has to support his wife's interests."

Bella couldn't help but laugh, shaking her head at how fucked up her mom's ability had turned out to be—but she quickly composed herself, though the smile wouldn't leave her lips. "That he does. Hopefully Edward's realized that fact too."

Jean Paul grinned, then glanced around like something had just occurred to him. "Where is Edward, anyway? You two are usually glued at the hip."

She shrugged. "I'm not sure. He said he had to go do something, but didn't offer much beyond that." She sighed. "Hopefully he'll turn up soon."

They continued on, leaving the throne room and heading down another wide hallway, pausing now and then to study the artwork lining the walls.

Edward stood perfectly still at the threshold, frozen in place, as though stepping forward might plunge him back into the nightmare he had only just escaped. His emotions churned like a stormy sea—fear, dread, determination—each one crashing violently into the next. And yet, beneath the turmoil, a quiet voice urged him forward. He had to do this. For himself, for Bella, for the life they both deserved.

Slowly, deliberately, Edward stepped through the doorway into the place that had haunted him for nearly a century. The silence was suffocating, the heavy quiet punctuated only by the distant, phantom echoes of tortured screams, desperate pleas, and the fading sobs of souls who had suffered here but couldn't outrun the grim fate that awaited them. He inhaled deeply, the scent of decay and mustiness flooding his senses—so familiar it sparked a fresh ache in his chest. For nearly a century, this had been the air he breathed, thick with despair and hopelessness.

Forcing his feet forward, he moved slowly down the long, shadowed hall. His eyes traced the cracked stone walls and rust-stained iron bars. Every scar in the stone mirrored the scars to his soul. As he approached the larger metal door—the one Bella had torn free in a fierce burst of power—a feeling of dread pressed down on him. He paused, breathing slowly as he worked to steady his emotions. When his mind finally calmed, he opened his eyes to the massive slab lying twisted on the grimy, bloodstained floor, exactly where Bella had discarded it. A symbol of her strength, and his liberation.

Carefully stepping over it, he reached for the switch beside the doorway. With a brittle click, the ancient wiring groaned to life, and a faint hum filled the corridor. A weak, yellowed glow sputtered along the ceiling, one flickering bulb at a time—hesitant, unreliable. Most had long since burned out, leaving sections of the hallway drowned in uneven shadows. But at the far end, the final light still held, casting a dull, uneven glow over a single cell—his cell—like a silent beacon waiting in the gloom.

The sound of his footsteps echoed through the silence until he reached the shattered entrance to his cell. He paused—not looking inside, but instead studying the ruined doorframe. Bella hadn't simply removed the barrier—she'd obliterated it, leaving jagged stone and scattered debris in her wake. He reached out, brushing his fingertips along the rough edges. Loose granules crumbled beneath his touch, dropping to the floor.

How many times had he fantasized about ripping the door off himself—one final act of rebellion. If it would have ended his torment, he might've done it. There had been moments over the decades when death had felt like his only salvation. But he knew Aro's mind. His death would never have been allowed. Aro would've found new, crueler ways to punish him, and whatever little peace he'd carved out in his cell would've been stripped away.

Taking a deep breath, he finally looked into the cell as he stepped inside. A wave of crushing familiarity surged through him, and his body reacted on instinct. Somehow, it felt like his heart was racing—even if he knew it wasn't. His eyes swept over the small, barren space: the cold stone walls, the solitary metal cot, the corners where shadows had been his only company. His chest tightened as the memories pressed in—loneliness so deep it had ached like a wound. Moments when madness had crept frighteningly close, like tendrils clawing at the edges of his mind, trying to tear loose what little sanity he'd managed to hold onto. It was all too much.

He moved without thinking, drawn to the cot as if by muscle memory, lowering himself onto its cold, unforgiving surface. The metal groaned faintly beneath him—familiar, unyielding. The sensation, as heartbreaking as it was, felt disturbingly comforting. His body remembered every rigid contour of the metal frame, every uneven bump pressing into his back from the stone wall behind him. They were as much a part of him as the memories that lived in these walls.

Closing his eyes, he allowed himself a moment of surrender—a chance to absorb the weight of his past fully, to sit with it, not as its captive, but as someone who had survived.

I'm not a prisoner.
Those days are over.
I'm...

But the thought snagged as panic crept in, slow and merciless—like a cold breath whispering in his ear.

What if you have gone insane?

What if none of it had been real—Bella, his freedom, the sunlight, their laughter? What if, when he opened his eyes, the cell door was back in place, locked tight like it always had been?

The weight of it all pressed against his chest.

Until he pictured her—Bella.

She came to him like the sun breaking through the clouds. Thousands of moments, countless expressions, flooded his mind in a cascade of warmth and color—her laughter, her stubbornness, her eyes when she looked at him like he was someone worth saving. That look that told him, without needing words, that she loved him.

No madness could conjure her.

His mind clung to her with everything he had. A mosaic of her smiles, more vivid than memory. More beautiful than any delusion.

And he felt it—clarity. His thoughts sharpened, his breath steadied.

I'm not a prisoner.
Those days are over.
I'm… free.

He whispered it again and again, each quiet repetition a balm to the wounded places inside him. Slowly, the tension drained from his limbs. The shadows receded. The walls no longer felt like they were closing in.

He opened his eyes—and the door was still gone, twisted and broken, just where Bella had left it.

A slow breath escaped him as he looked around the room—really looked. The silence was no longer suffocating. The walls, once so heavy with memory, now felt still. The weight they carried wasn't his anymore. It felt like something he could finally walk away from.

He rose from the cot with renewed strength, standing tall. This place was just a room—four walls and empty space. It held no power over him. It would no longer define who he was or shape what he would become. He was Edward Masen, and his future was his own.

A quiet smile touched his lips, born not of joy, but of hard-earned triumph. Turning away from the past, Edward stepped confidently toward the shattered doorway and the freedom beyond. It was time to leave the darkness of his cell behind—for good. He would not be returning.

It was time to embrace his future with Bella.

They were going home.

I hope you enjoyed the chapter—and the Gathering as a whole. I'd love to hear what stood out to you most or what your favorite part was. Whether it's something small or a reaction to the bigger reveals, your thoughts always mean a lot—and it's always fun to read a comment from someone who doesn't post often. There's still more to come, and I promise the upcoming finale will be worth the wait.