Let the Moon Rise / Let the Sun Go Down / Let the Night Arise / For Our Love to Begin

A muscle in her jaw twitched. Without a moment of hesitation, the brazen Diana’s hand crashed onto the table, the shocking force echoed throughout the office. The Younger Stanillo was not phased by her reaction to the news. He had expected her to react in such a way.

The young woman’s fingers curled tightly under her palm, her nails began to bite through her palm. Surprisingly, the woman was able to keep her composure, though her hand trembled significantly with her suppressed fury.

Looking away, she said, “All along you people were playing me for a fool…”

“It was never my intention to continue this charade,” Stanillo admitted. “Ever since I learned of the alliance between Stalavat and Belomas, I was quite intrigued. However, I learned of the trickery that was used to broker the deal. If I had brokered that deal myself, I would not have resorted to such trickery.”

She laughed, still not daring to look at him. “Your words are of little to no value. For months, you continued to lead me on. You made me believe he had the intention of marrying me, but he never had the intention.”

“I was simply following orders,” said Stanillo.

She replied, “It does not make you less guilty.”

“It does not,” Stanillo said. “I must admit, it paid off to delay the wedding. It gave us time to grow stronger than you, leading to you posing little to no danger to Belomas.”

She was no longer able to contain herself. The fiery Diana stood from her seat.

Fueled by her anger, Diana surged to her feet, tearing up before she attempted to strike him. With lightning-fast reflexes, the young Stanillo caught her arm mid-way, his fingers clamping down on her wrist. She winced in pain, demanding to be let go. The Younger Stanillo, who had been on his feet prior, threw the woman back onto her chair. The woman had lost her confidence. At that moment, Stanillo knew it was his opportunity to bury her for good.

“You truly have no reason to continue the marriage, Diana,” he smirked. “However, others would argue that your reluctance could be viewed in a bad light.”

“On the other hand, it could be viewed as a mark of disrespect. Who would conduct relations with a woman who openly belittles her allies?” 

Diana gritted her teeth, staring back at him. “You conniving bastards!”

The young Stanillo flailed his hands dramatically in a weak imitation of a scare. “How terrifying!” he exclaimed.

Switching from his sarcastic tone, he began to have her recall her actions at the marketplace. She not only entered into their territory with an armed squadron, but she also dared to openly disregard the law at Belomas and struck the chieftess. Diana began to quiver in fear, finding herself subjected to the Younger Stanillo, who began to appear as a wolf in sheep's clothing. He crept in close to her, getting close to the ground.

He whispered to her. “I could have you killed.”

She shivered at his words. “Is that what you have planned for me?” she asked.

Stanillo stood up from where she sat. He began to walk around, thinking of what to say to her. “You know, Diana, it would not be necessary to kill you. You are quite unpopular with the men in your city, who you treat like third-rate citizens at Stalavat. Imagine, if I were to reach out to them and grant them my aid. Do you think they would not take the chance at revolting against you?”

At the mention of this, she remained silent, choosing not to further tensions. “No response?” he asked.

Her composure faltered, and she was ready to give in to him. “Fine, you win,” she yielded. “I will marry the Younger Illya, only if you agree to follow the initial terms of the alliance.”

He smirked at her submission. “Of course, miss,” he said.

She sighed in relief, having settled the problem at hand. “I have one more demand,” she added.

“And what would it be?”

“I wish to meet the Younger Illya,” she said. “If it is possible, I would like to meet him today. Tomorrow morning, I plan to return to my people.”

“Hmm,” he said. “May I ask for what purpose?”

“I hope to learn what kind of person he is. That is all.”

“I will arrange the meeting,” Stanillo said. “After all, I am going to meet with him.”

In the confines of the Younger Stanillo’s home, lies the young Coria, who is surrounded by her younger sister and the mother of Illya. Boudiaca held her sister in her arms, trying to comfort her. At that moment, the two women understood the ominous words of the Younger Stanillo, who told them to not be harsh on Illya. The young Illya had not only broken the heart of Coria, but he had also volunteered to forfeit his obligations to her and their child.

The woman learned the truth of what had occurred. The young Coria admitted to never having left with Illya, as what many thought to had occurred. On the contrary, she had been at Belomas the entire time. Stanillo had offered her to live at his home. At that moment, Coria told them that she wished to be away from everyone. In truth, she had only grown comfortable recently without him. Until today, that is.

She had held out hope, stupidly believing that he would apologize and return to her. Her heart pleaded with her, telling her to not let him leave. The words of Coria broke something inside those present, bringing tears to their eyes. She pleaded with them to not pity her, saying this was what fate had in store. There was nothing to pity, considering this was going to occur eventually.

Coria had noticed Himari’s growing anger at her son. The young woman wished to clarify why her son did what he did, explaining that he had succumbed to the pressure of his father. Himari was rightfully furious of learning that her husband had been involved in their separation. She was disgusted at the means the Elder Illya had used to ensure that the pair did not remain together.

Coria's sister, Boudiaca, understood the young Illya’s actions, finding him to have acted reasonably. However, she was a bit disappointed in his lack of courage to face his father. She had believed him to be the right person for her sister, even viewing him as an elder brother.

Coria muttered. “Do not be too harsh on your husband. It was his son that went through with the decision to break away from me. His father offered him an ultimatum, and he made the decision that he thought best.”

Himari embraced Coria, sobbing at what had happened to her. “I am perhaps the last person that you want around you, Coria. I—It is just that I feel an obligation to care for you, like a mother would. If you ever need anything, call me. To me, you and your sister will always be like daughters to me…”

This brought tears to Coria’s eyes, biting her lip as she embraced Himari tightly too. “I do not deserve your love,” she cried.

Outside the estate, the young Illya awaits the Younger Stanillo. An hour had passed, and he still had not arrived. He felt happy to see his mother’s face once more. It appeared that Stanillo was telling the truth, she was expecting another child. The idea of his mother becoming a mother and a grandmother at the same time warmed his heart. Although, he wished things had gone differently.

The young lad began to doubt that Stanillo would arrive anytime soon. So he walked on over to the direction of the bathhouse, believing himself to have plenty of time to wash off. It had been months since he had taken a bath. In the forest, he had little to no time to do so. As he entered the bathhouse, he noticed the marble statues of the gods around.

The Younger Stanillo was a rather religious fellow. He had altars of the gods built at his expense, so the villagers could pray and attend to their gods. Oftentimes, the villagers gave him the moniker of Pious. In all truth, Stanillo embodied what it meant to be strong. He possessed the three golden principles of duty, family loyalty, and an unwavering commitment to one’s state.

The boy removed his footwear, finding himself relieved to stretch his toes around. It had been a long time since he had stepped barefoot. The lad patiently teased out the stubborn knot with his fingers until the strand gave way. He attempted to preen, but he found his hair to be a bit rough for combing.

He began to walk over to the bath, not bothering to take off his clothing. The boy descended the steps of the bath, pausing at each step as the cold water climbed higher to his calves. The feeling of the dry heat of his body ceasing as he submerged himself in the blue depths had him in ecstasy. He grabbed onto his garment, stripped off his shirt, letting it fall onto the bottom floor of the pool. Afterward, he unbuckled his belt, his trousers began to sink to the bottom floor as well.

Finally, he stepped out of his undergarments, letting them hit the bottom floor. Illya let out a long, shaky breath as the heat of the water embraced his body. A small, unbidden smile tugged his lips, as he leaned back, closing his eyes as the scent of the yarrow rose with the mist. For the first time in months, his mind felt relieved — not just tranquil, but comforted by the sudden surge of delight.

A cloud of steam followed him as he arose from the depths of the bath. Every movement sent a fresh spray of droplets flying, leaving trails of water with each step he made. He ran his hand through his hair at last, each lock slipping through his grasp, like running water. For the next couple of minutes, he twisted and squeezed his clothes to get the water out of them. When he was finished, he took a sniff at them.

They did not smell as bad as before, but these were the only clothes he had right now. He went towards to the door of the bathhouse, carrying his clothing with him. The boy moved through the garden as if it were a piece of nature itself, his bare feet meeting the grass. Nearby the bathhouse was a clothing line, where he hung his clothes for the time being.

He made his way back to the bathhouse, grabbing onto the knife that sat there on a stool. The knife was a bit dull, but it would have to do. He stared into the glass, his upper lip curling into a sneer, as if he had bitten into a sour fruit. The boy lowered his head in shame, finding himself repulsed at his long unkempt hair.

Illya stared at the dull blade, feeling it was about time. His fingers, thick and clumsy, struggled to cut his hair with the knife, yanking at the brittle, tangled mess. Each lock that fell, dull and lifeless, was giving way to a new man. Finally, the final snip came, cutting the last lock of hair on his side.

He shook his head, delighted at how light his head felt, no longer having to stick the strands of hair into his ears. For a moment, the boy leaned closer to the glass, finding himself to be quite the looker. Illya giggled at his foolishness, believing he was getting ahead of himself. Anyhow, he ran the blade across his face, nicking his face a few times as he tried to shave his face.

It took him a while, but he finished at last. Illya had a new glow to him, feeling sharper than ever. The boy went outside to retrieve his clothes, which he found to not be completely dry, but it would have to do for now. As he finished dressing himself outside, the Younger Stanillo could be seen from afar on horseback.

Stanillo noticed the new change in his comrade, smiling at him from a distance. The Younger Stanillo began to come to a halt. “Looking sharp, kid!” he yelled.

Illya scratched his head, looking down at the ground. “Thank you.”

“It has been a long day, how about a drink?”

“I thought, you wanted to discuss with me what has been happening?”

“I nearly forgot, Illya!”

Illya paused, rolling his eyes at him. “Well, now that you remember, how about we discuss it somewhere else?

“No, my friend,” Stanillo answered. “I mean, I forgot to tell you that Diana of Stalavat wishes to see you.”

“Me!?” Illya exclaimed.

Stanillo nodded, saying they could talk about Belomas tomorrow morning. Instead, he is to go meet the jarl at his property in the town square. It was one of the few homes within the village in which he rested when he could not make the trip back to his estate.

“Feel free to stay there, considering you have quite the amount of problems on your hands,” 

“Very thoughtful of you, I will make use of it,” Illya said. “Anyhow, fill me in. Why does she want to meet me?”

“No clue,” Stanillo said. “Things went well, Illya. Your marriage is set to happen, but I cannot let you leave looking like that!

“What? I look fine!” Illya exclaimed.

Stanillo chuckled, saying the least he could do is give him his coat to cover those atrocious rags he was wearing. Illya begrudgingly took his coat, finding it a bit too big for him. “Thanks again, I guess,” he said. “Do you mind if I use your horse?”

“Not at all. Have at it.”

Illya placed his foot in the stirrup and gripped the mane, feeling ready to go at any moment. Stanillo called him, advising him before he left. “Be assertive with that woman, kid. She can be a very difficult woman.”

“Will do.”

“Best of luck, my friend,” Stanillo said. “ You are doing the right thing, Illya.”

“Only time will tell, my friend.”

On the other end of Belomas, the beauty of Stalavat awaits her fiancé. As she awaited him at the cabin, the air began to feel thick, almost as if the atmosphere itself was holding its breath with her. She smoothed the silk of her skirt for the tenth time, her fingers trembling. Any slight sound in the distance sent a jolt through her spine, a sharp spark of energy that made her heart beat a frantic rhythm against her ribs. She reached up to touch her hair, wondering if she was presentable.

To the rest of the world, she was a wolf in sheep’s clothing, but in the solitude of the cabin, she felt fragile and insecure, as if a single glare from him might shatter the composure that she had fought so hard to build up. She tucked a stray lock behind her ear, her pulse drumming against her fingertips.

For the first time in her adult life, she felt the feeling of being exposed as someone incompetent rather than the powerful woman that she tended to display. The young Diana had spent years perfecting an obnoxious, jagged act — a loud, defiant persona meant to distinguish herself as a woman in a room full of arrogant men. She wore a mask of iron and thorns, intended to make her impossible to ignore.

But now, she feared her mask had been broken by Belomas, shattering her perspective of herself. Diplomatic relations were difficult for her, considering most rulers were men that did not take her seriously. As her anxiety continued to rise, a knock was heard on the door of the cabin. She jumped up, uncertain of what to do. He had arrived. Yet, she was unable to keep her composure.

A second knock followed, more hesitant than the first. The boy shifted his weight, the mountain lilies in his hand feeling suddenly heavy. She stared at the door handle, her chest heaving. For a moment, the boy thought she had left. He began to leave, sighing at having failed to do the first thing that was asked of him.

As the dirt crunched under his boots, a new, sharper panic sliced through her anxiety. The thought of him leaving — because she did not have the courage to face the world — was unbearable.

She lunged for the handle, her movements sloppy and uncoordinated.

The door swung open with a violent, desperate creak. “Wait!”

At the sound of her voice, he turned to see her. To say the boy was captivated by her beauty was an understatement. To the young Illya, the brazen Diana was a goddess in human form. At first, the boy gulped at the sight of her glare, finding it hard to approach her. The lad eventually built up the courage, and walked up to her, to hand her the beautiful mountain lilies he had picked out for her.

The iron mask she wore for the rulers of Belomas prior melted under the simple presentation of the lilies; she felt her face go hot, the fierce red of her cheeks signifying a white flag of surrender. The young lady thanked him for his gift, asking him if he wanted to come inside and talk.

Illya scratched his head, not thrilled with the idea. “I was hoping that you would like to accompany me to the dining hall. After all, you had a long voyage, surely you must be hungry,” he said.

“Oh,” she muttered. “Sure.”

“Great! How about we ride on horseback on the way there? There is nothing like riding on horseback at night. It helps your mind come to ease for a brief moment.”

Diana blinked at the suggestion, the cool air of the night soothing the heat in her cheeks. “Horseback?” she repeated.

“Yep.”

“Fine, but only if I mount it.”

“Sure, I do not see why not.”

As they walked on over to the horse, Diana found the stallion to be gorgeous. It was a powerful black stallion, its coat like polished obsidian, his muscles rippling beneath the skin as he galloped, a true depiction of elegance. Diana’s sloppy and uncoordinated movements began to transform into something else — a focused, physical energy. She had always been a skilled rider; it was one of the skills that she prided herself on as a woman.

Diana was a completely different person when she reached out to stroke its neck, the trembling in her fingers ceasing to be. Those fingers that had been fumbling with her skirt only moments ago, were now sure and steady as she gripped onto the reins, leading the horse on.

She swung herself up.

From the height of the saddle, the world changed for her. The fragile and insecure girl had been left behind in the cabin. She was replaced by a skilled rider, who knew her skill could not be matched. Illya could not help, but find her attitude to be attractive.

As they made their way to the dining hall, Diana could not help but notice the young Illya’s arms wrapped around her waist. She could not help but be flustered by this. Never before had any man touched her in such a manner.

She began to observe the boy attentively, finding him to be quite young. He had raven black hair, a cute whimsy smile, and he had sharp phoenix-like eyes that seemed to not miss anything in sight.

“So,” she asked. “How old are you?”

“Fifteen going onto sixteen in two months,” he answered.

She giggled. “I just turned twenty-seven, a month ago.”

“Oh, I did not know.”

"Do you not find it surprising? I thought you would. Is there anything special about you that I should know?”

“Not really,” he replied. “I just got to experience my first campaign, and I had the opportunity to fight the chieftain of the Nori. Although it was nothing special, I failed to kill him.”

“Your career is just getting started. Do not be too harsh on yourself.” she smiled.

“Victory is everything, though.”

Diana chuckled. “Life is not about winning all the time. “

“Perhaps it is not,” he added. “Come to a halt, miss, we have arrived.”

The revelation of his age made the heat of her cheeks change from a blush of embarrassment to a soft glow. She felt a strange sense of relief that he did not judge her abilities because of her gender. The boy had not yet been corrupted by the cynical, toxic masculinity that pollutes the world.

As the stallion slowed to a walk, the grand stone arches of the hall loomed ahead, spilling golden light and the boisterous noise of a feast could be heard from afar. Diana felt Illya’s arms loosen from her waist as she prepared to dismount, and for a second, she did not like that he loosened his arms from her waist.

Illya hopped down with the agile grace of his youth, and reached up a hand to help her. His phoenix-like eyes met hers at last, steady and unblinking. For the first time in her life, the beauty of Stalavat left her pride behind, taking his hand to help her dismount.

As she leaned onto him to dismount, the world seemed to be finally going her way. Taking his help was not an admission of her feminine frailty, it was a gesture of trust. She landed softly on the ground, her skirts billowing briefly before settling. She did not pull her hand away immediately. For a minute, they stood in the shadows holding onto one another. Illya could not help, but be enamored with her. In a way, she was helping him get over Coria.

“Ready?” he whispered, his smile illuminating the night.

Unknowingly, his smile was the final blow to her defenses. At a young age, Diana had been taught to never trust the intentions of any man. Men always presented themselves to women in a matter that lacked genuineness. But Illya’s smile was a sunrise. It did not demand anything from her; it simply offered her the light to her darkness.

“Ready,” she replied, her voice no longer shaky or defensive.

Illya did not pull his hand away. Instead, he laced his fingers through hers, a depiction of how the two would face the world together. As they stepped towards the massive stone arches, the golden light from the hall shone upon them.

The boisterous laughter of those inside ceased to be when the heavy oak doors opened, revealing the young Illya and his fiancé. The sudden silence that swept the room was deafening. Every head turned — the seasoned warriors, the shield maidens of Stalavat, and Mirad. Some of the villagers were surprised to see the appearance of their young lord, and the shield maidens of Stalavat asked their Jarl, if she wished to dine with them.

Diana humbly declined their offer, and her shield maidens teased her at the sight of her holding onto her fiancé’s hand. She did not feel embarrassed at her subordinates' teasing. Instead, she embraced Illya, asking him if they could dine somewhere private.

Illya abided to her request, ordering a table to be put in a private booth. In a matter of minutes, the servants had brought out the food for their young lord. The two were seated by their servants, who asked the couple if everything was to their liking. The two answered, yes, causing the two to laugh at one another.

Illya told Diana to indulge herself without worry. Diana found the boy to be welcoming, but she had to admit that she was not too hungry. On the other hand, Illya ate everything in sight. Most the time there, Diana had to constantly provide him with water as he would stuff his face with food, causing him to choke. She was amused at his behavior, finding herself laughing at his ridiculous stunts.

In the end, Illya finished everything in sight, burping at the end.

She raised an eyebrow, smiling at him. “I do not believe you brought me here to treat me, did you?”

Illya apologized for his lack of manners. “It is not like that! It is a long story, actually.”

She shook her head, offering a small finger wag in disapproval. “A husband should never hide things from his wife, you know?”

Illya blushed, muttering, “Yes, but we are not married yet.”

“Perhaps, not.”

“Oh, so you are using my words now?”

“Perhaps, so,” she chuckled.

Illya rolled his eyes. “Perhaps, perhaps not so.”

“If you do not mind, I would like to return to the cabin.”

“I do not mind!” he exclaimed. “It is getting quite late to be out and about.”

The young boy arose from his seat, quickly running over to her. He offered his hand to her once more, helping her to stand up from the chair. Illya grabbed onto her hand tightly, causing Diana’s voice to break.

“What are you doing!?” she blushed.

He chuckled at her outburst, finding it to be cute. “Taking care of you, miss.”

Diana’s breath hitched, her heart hammering a frantic rhythm against her ribs that had nothing to do with fear, but it had everything to do with being claimed. Fumbling for the keys, her hands shook — not with the tremors of her earlier anxiety, but with a sudden, dizzying rush of adrenaline. The metallic jingle of the keys was the only sound in the quiet town as she struggled to find the lock.

As she managed to turn the knob, the door creaked open, but she found herself unable to move forward. She was pinned by the sensation of Illya leaning against the frame behind her. He did not let go of her; instead, his grip tightened on her waist.

When he leaned in, kissing her neck, Diana felt a spark of electricity travel through her entire body. The “brazen” woman of Stalavat was utterly silent. At that moment, the world and her position meant nothing to her. There was only the scent of the night, the rough texture of the cabin wood under her hand, and the searing heat of his lips against her skin.

She did not pull away. For a woman who had spent twenty-seven years building a fortress around her heart, the sensation of being wanted—not as a political piece, but as a woman—was a "white flag" she was more than happy to wave.

Diana turned in his arms, her movement fluid and desperate, and embraced him in a kiss. It was not the kiss of a girl, but the deep, hungry arrival of a woman who had been deprived of genuine affection. As they passionately embraced one another, the world outside the cabin — the politics, the bullshit, and their duties — simply ceased to exist. In that tongue-curling kiss, Diana felt her “shattered confidence” fuse back together into something new and unbreakable. She was not just the Jarl of Stalavat, or a failed diplomat reduced to indentured servitude by Belomas; no, she was a woman that had the bodily needs, like any other woman.

Illya’s grip on her was no longer just about “taking care of her.” It was a claim. His phoenix-like eyes were closed, his entire focus poured into the heat of their contact. For Diana, the sensation of his breath against her skin and the rhythmic pressure of their kiss was a sensory overpowering that finally drowned out her insecurities.

In his arms, she did not have to be the brazen, obnoxious, or perfect woman. She only had to be his.

As she gasped for air, her lungs burning with a sweet fire, she felt the last remnants of her facade dissolve. The physical intimacy was a reclamation of her body and her spirit. She was not just a political figurehead or woman to be judged; she was a creature of passion, who craved to be adored and wanted by a man.

Illya took everything in, set on making her his forever. He moved with the intensity of battle, his hands finding the curves of her body with a reverence that made Diana feel truly seen. When she threw him onto his back and took the initiative, it was the ultimate self-expression of her brazen spirit — no longer needing to hide behind a mask, but a genuine expression of herself.

As the sun began to peek over, the cabin finally fell silent. The frantic energy of the night had mellowed into a deep, heavy pace. The memory of that night — the physical and emotional release — remained etched in their souls. They laid entangled, the young Illya holding onto her as if letting go would mean losing the dawn itself. Diana, sleeping on top of him, smiling as she heard his beating heart.