The Tyrant's Happy Ending - Chapter 1.10

This weak body, unsurprisingly, couldn’t handle the full weight of the imperial wedding.

From the crack of dawn, Yernen had been forcibly woken by his attendants to prepare for the day. He endured the greetings of countless nobles, attended the grand ceremony at the cathedral, and had to ride through the capital with Lyle, presenting themselves to the citizens.

And so, on the first day of the three-day wedding celebration, despite the remaining important event of the evening banquet, Yernen’s stamina had already given out. He had no choice but to excuse himself and return to the Empress’s palace, leaving Lyle to continue without him.

Leaving the wedding mid-way was highly improper, something Yernen was well aware of. But with his pale face and clearly on the verge of collapse, everyone urged him to rest. Seeing no reason to refuse, Yernen, accompanied by his nanny and attendants, had returned to the Empress’s quarters.

As his aching body sank into the bed, Yernen finally felt a small sense of relief. Only then did he muster the energy to take in his surroundings, his head turning slightly from side to side as he lay there, too tired to move more.

“…”

The Empress’s palace had always been reserved for the reigning empress, while the emperor resided in the main palace. But in Yernen’s time, the Empress’s palace had been unoccupied. He had no consort, after all.

Even in the previous generation, the palace had remained empty, as his predecessor, Lizi Merion, had chosen a different residence of her own liking.

Thus, this place had been left vacant for a long time. Its last occupant had been Yernen’s mother, Roxea.

He cautiously breathed in the scent of the bedding. It smelled only of freshly cleaned linens, yet, for some reason, he thought he could catch the faint scent of his mother. Of course, that was impossible.

But even the faintest illusion of comfort was enough to let Yernen relax. Too tired to wait for his nanny to return with tea, he drifted into a deep sleep.

“Ah!”

Yernen’s eyes shot open, his face drenched in cold sweat.

“Haa…”

For a moment, he couldn’t make sense of where he was or who he was.

His vision was filled with the sight of a familiar wallpaper, the same kind that had once adorned his mother’s chambers when he was a child.

It didn’t make sense. He should be in a dilapidated hut, discarded like a forgotten doll.
Tears flowed freely down his temples, and then it hit him.

He had left that island long ago.
He had married Lyle and had fallen asleep in the Empress’s chambers. No one could harm him now. It was just a nightmare. But knowing that did nothing to stop the tears from falling.

“…Hah.”

The cursed body of his nephew was too weak, and that included its tear ducts. In his original body, he had been able to hold back his tears through sheer will, but since inhabiting this frail form, that had become impossible.

It had been a terrifying dream.

In it, Yernen found himself back on the black-watered island, in the decrepit shack where he had once been. He was surrounded by those who had violated him, struggling not to lose his mind to the sickening scent of the heat-inducing drugs they used.

Yet now, even in this place, he thought he could smell the same nauseating scent.

He wiped his face with trembling hands, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

“Damn it… this isn’t the island…!”

But the scent still lingered, refusing to leave his senses. Heat spread through his body, and a dull ache throbbed in his lower back. With blurred vision, Yernen scanned the room.

‘Where is it coming from…?’

He needed to destroy it. Right now.

Yernen tried to rise from the bed but collapsed back onto it, his legs giving way beneath him. His body felt like it was melting, too weak to stand, as if the scent had seeped deep into his bones, paralyzing him.

It was horrifying. He could still feel the phantom touches of countless hands crawling over his skin, just like before.

“Damn it…!”

Yet all Yernen could focus on was the urgent need to extinguish that scent.

Desperation clouded his mind, warping his thoughts. His surroundings no longer appeared to be a luxurious, refined room. No, this wasn’t the regal chamber of the empress—it was that decrepit, rotting cabin on the island.

A cruel laugh echoed in his ears, followed by rough, shallow breathing.

“Hah… Hah….”

He had to stop the scent. Before they came to bind him again, while he could still move his limbs.

Thud.

His body hit the floor as he tumbled from the iron-framed bed, limbs unsteady.

‘I have to stop it…’

“What’s going on, Your Highness? Yernen…?”

A playful voice called out. It was Laile. Yernen knew that voice wasn’t real. His mind was conjuring it, a trick of his imagination.
Laile wasn’t here. He wouldn’t come.

“Hey.”

Someone lifted his trembling body from the floor.
“Don’t give up.”

“…Your Highness.”

The voice kept coming. Laile’s voice, his hallucination. It wouldn’t stop.

“Who’s been watching over the Empress? Wasn’t anyone in the room?”

“There was, but… they burned the incense…”

“What?”

“The incense is traditional for a wedding night, but…”

The voices of several people grew louder, then quieter, overlapping in waves. Yet Yernen could only focus on two overwhelming sensations: someone was touching him, and a crowd was watching his humiliation.

“Ugh…!”

A broken, animal-like sound escaped his throat, born from panic and fear.

“Open the windows and clear the air. Now.”

A low, growling command rang out. Yernen could no longer tell who was speaking. He just wanted everything to stop.

“But the protocol says…”

“Damn it, can’t you see he’s out of his mind right now?”

“…Stop.”

“Yernen, what are you saying?”

A face loomed closer to Yernen.

“N-No…!”

That small, fragile thread of sanity snapped completely.

“Don’t touch me!”

Yernen screamed, voice raw with fear.

“Don’t touch my body!”

“Laile!”

Where he found the strength, no one knew, but Yernen somehow mustered enough force to shove Laile away with a strength that stunned him. It was far beyond anything Laile had ever felt from him before. Shocked but determined, Laile fought to restrain Yernen, doing everything he could to stop him from hurting himself.

“Stop! Don’t!”

“Get the royal physician here! Now!” Laile shouted, still struggling.

“Y-Yes, right away!”

Holding Yernen’s flailing limbs, Laile barked orders. “Don’t touch me! Don’t look at me!”
Even as he flailed in desperation, Yernen fought like a madman. Steffin, who had come rushing in at the commotion, looked at the scene in horror.

“Sire, what in the world is happening…?”

But to Laile, Steffin was just another unwelcome presence.

“Damn it! Get out, all of you!”

“But, Your Majesty…!”

“Didn’t you hear me?! OUT! Get outside and stand by the walls. Anyone who disobeys my order will lose their head!”

The second the words left his mouth, everyone scrambled to leave the room. Now, only Laile and Yernen remained.

Laile, still holding Yernen in his arms, realized something.

‘Is it because of the incense?’

He recalled hearing once that some people could have an extreme reaction to aphrodisiacs. Given Yernen’s unconventional upbringing and delicate constitution, it was entirely possible that he was one of those people.

The sweetness of a wedding night? That fantasy was long gone. All Laile cared about now was calming his Omega, who was clearly in distress.

‘Damn it, what do I do?’

But he’d never dealt with anything like this before. He had no idea how to help.
‘Maybe if I take a step back, it’ll ease his reaction.’

Laile considered that perhaps Yernen was overstimulated and needed relief. But that thought, though well-intended, would have been the worst possible decision he could make.

Yernen’s mind slowly pieced together the fragments of what had happened. He remembered coming back to the Queen’s quarters in the middle of the wedding ceremony. The room had been carefully prepared for the wedding night, and he’d fallen into a deep sleep, plagued by nightmares of that dreadful island. Memories he wished would stay buried.

Then, he recalled waking up and sensing the aphrodisiac incense. In a desperate attempt to stop it…

“Ah.”

The memory hit him like a ton of bricks. His body had reacted violently, the panic, the terror… and then Laile. His face flushed as he remembered the moment Laile had come close, trying to help. The fear that gripped him, the sickening sense of helplessness.

Yernen closed his eyes tightly, gripping the sheets in frustration. It was humiliating.
“Do you remember what happened, my dear?” the nanny’s voice broke his thoughts gently, but her concern was clear.

“Yes, I… I remember,” he muttered, rubbing his temples as if that would erase the shame. “How long… was I out?”

“Not too long, darling. You fainted from the stress. The doctor checked on you—said you just needed rest.”

Yernen nodded weakly, not wanting to meet her eyes. The weight of everything felt suffocating. He had planned everything meticulously—his return, his role in Laile’s life. But now, his body had betrayed him, reacting in ways he hadn’t foreseen. The past he thought he had buried was still gripping him tighter than ever.

“Why don’t you rest some more, dear?” the nanny suggested, her voice tender with worry.

But Yernen couldn’t rest, not now. He needed answers.

“Laile… where is he?” he asked, his voice hoarse.

The nanny hesitated before answering. “He hasn’t left your side, darling. He’s right outside the door.”

Yernen felt a surge of mixed emotions—anger, shame, and something else he didn’t want to name.
“Tell him to come in,” Yernen whispered, his voice barely audible.

Moments later, Laile entered the room, his expression unreadable, yet his eyes were dark with something Yernen couldn’t quite place—concern or fury, perhaps both.

Yernen swallowed, his throat dry.

“Laile,” he started, unsure of what to even say.
But before he could continue, Laile knelt beside the bed, his face inches away from Yernen’s.

“Who hurt you, Yernen?” Laile asked, his voice a low growl.

Yernen froze, stunned by the intensity in Laile’s gaze. He had expected mockery, a dismissive attitude, anything but this. But Laile’s eyes blazed with something far more dangerous—rage, and something like protectiveness.

“I—” Yernen’s words caught in his throat, and suddenly, he couldn’t bring himself to speak. He wasn’t ready to relive those memories, not yet.
But Laile wasn’t letting it go. He gently placed his hand on Yernen’s, his voice softening just a little.

“I’m not asking you to explain now. But know this… whoever did this to you, I’ll find them.”
Yernen stared at him, caught off guard. For the first time in a long while, the fear began to melt away, replaced by something far more unfamiliar—trust.

And that, above all else, terrified him.
As the flood of memories from the previous night surged back, it felt as though a dam had burst within Yernen’s mind. The scent of the incense had caused him to confuse the Empress’s quarters with the wretched hut from his past. He’d lashed out, pushing away the people he thought were tormenting him—likely Laile and the attendants.

“Damn it,” he thought.

He’d made a complete mess of everything. His memories were still hazy, but he was fairly certain he’d even thrown up at the end.

Yernen glanced down at himself, inspecting his body. He was no longer wearing his formal attire but a soft nightgown. He sniffed the fabric cautiously, relieved to find no trace of vomit.

“…”

At least the worst of his fears hadn’t come to pass. His body was clean, which meant he could move on to the next issue at hand.

“What do I do now?”

He couldn’t exactly lie his way out of this. Anyone who saw him like that could easily guess what had happened, what he had endured.

But Yernen had no intention of explaining.

“I’ll just have to deny everything and play dumb,” he thought.

No one would believe him, of course, but it was the best option he had. A messy situation, to say the least.