The Tyrant's Happy Ending - Chapter 1.11

He glanced outside. The sky was just starting to turn a pale blue, signaling the early hours of the morning.

“How long have I been out?” he asked.

“Two days, my lord! The wedding is completely over! Do you know how worried I was, thinking you might not make it?” The nanny’s voice cracked with emotion, her tears soaking into a handkerchief as she wiped her face.

Yernen felt the weight of her worry but found himself unable to offer even a word of comfort.

“What…?”

He’d been unconscious for two days? He’d assumed he’d been out for a while given how drained he felt, but two whole days? Any excuse he could come up with now would be worthless.

“What am I supposed to say…”

He dragged himself out of bed, forcing his weak body to move. After thoroughly washing himself twice and finally eating something, the sun had already risen. And with it, Yernen knew that word of his awakening would have reached Laile, who had likely collapsed from exhaustion in the imperial palace after the brutal wedding schedule.

“So,” Yernen muttered under his breath, cursing silently, as he shifted his gaze away, knowing full well what was coming next.

“I want to hear an explanation about what happened yesterday,” Laile’s voice cut through the air.

‘…Damn it.’

“…Explanation? Did I do something wrong?”
Yernen’s best defense was offense. Like a cornered cat puffing up its fur, he tried to glare at Laile, his voice defiant.

“Oh?”

“…Sure, I’m sorry I threw up, but isn’t it your fault for burning that garbage incense?”

“And what kind of incense was that, exactly?”

‘…Damn.’

“That strange smell!” Yernen snapped, but Laile’s gaze remained calm, as if he was waiting for more. The headache brewing in Yernen’s skull intensified.

‘Maybe I should’ve just said I was feeling unwell.’

But that wouldn’t have worked. Anyone could tell something was seriously off with him that night. Still, he had already resigned himself to the idea that Laile might grow suspicious—yet what did it matter at this point?

‘…It’s not like it’ll be the end of the world if he finds out something.’

Yernen had erased all traces of those humiliating nights. Every recording had been destroyed, and anyone who knew the truth was long dead. His knights were still sweeping the empire’s darkest corners to make sure no whispers of it remained. If anything, Laile’s growing suspicions might only serve to cloud the truth, making it harder for him to piece together Yernen’s true identity.
With a quick mental calculation, Yernen decided to stick to his original plan.

“And you. Did you forget the contract? You’re supposed to request permission in writing before barging in like this. Are you trying to get yourself killed?”

“Oh… the contract, right?”

‘This bastard…’

Laile had the audacity to cross his legs casually, drawing out his words as if he were in no rush. Yernen could tell Laile was about to get cheeky.

“If I remember correctly, I’m supposed to get written permission to see you, right?” Laile said, leaning back with an infuriating smirk. “But let’s be honest here, Yernen—sorry, I should say Empress now, shouldn’t I?—if I’d really broken that contract, I’d be dead the moment I stepped into this room. But I’m still here, aren’t I?”

“…”

“And why do you think that is?”

It was obvious. The contract wasn’t real—it was just ink on paper. There was no magic binding it, and it hadn’t even been legally certified. In short, it held no power.

“You even wrote in the contract, Yernen Portnum Helio will faithfully fulfill his duty to bear a child with Laile Beltimore…” Laile continued, leaning forward slightly, eyes gleaming.

‘Damn.’

Yernen had written that part himself, but he should’ve emphasized that Laile still needed permission to meet him in person—even if he was supposed to be cooperating to produce an heir.
“How could we possibly have a child if we can’t be close to each other?” Laile asked, his voice dripping with feigned innocence.

“I’ve got nothing to say to you.”

“And now, after everything, you’re just going to stay silent?”

“…”

Yernen chose to remain silent, knowing that the only way to get through this was to endure.
“Well…” Laile’s voice trailed off, his words lingering in the air. His slow, deliberate enunciation only added to his lazy, unhurried aura, a stark contrast to the tension filling the room.

“For now, I’ll let it go. Seems like the Empress still needs time to recover.”

Yernen’s eyes widened in surprise.

‘Is he really backing off that easily?’

“So, I’ll see you tonight, Empress.”
“What?”

But before Yernen could fully process what Laile had said, his next words hit him like a ton of bricks.

“If it’s difficult for the Empress to, well, consummate the marriage right now, then I’ll help. We just need to build our bond. The closer we are physically, the closer we’ll grow emotionally. So, I’ll be visiting you more often from now on.”

That was Laile’s way of saying he’d be back to grill Yernen later—tonight, in fact.

“You…!”

Yernen’s hands clenched the bedsheets so tightly that his knuckles turned white, his entire body shaking with fury.

“Get out, right now!” he yelled.

“Are you all right?” Steffin asked quietly, gauging Laile’s mood.

Laile responded with a calm, amused smile.
“This? It’s nothing.”

He had just been thrown out of the room, with Yernen’s furious shout and a pillow hitting him square in the face. Most would find that humiliating, but Laile showed no sign of embarrassment. Instead, he radiated the calm confidence of a predator who had successfully cornered his prey.

“It’s only a matter of time now,” Laile said, his voice laced with amusement. “He’s already in my grasp.”

Laile thought back to Yernen’s frantic denials, his desperate attempts to keep his identity hidden. But Yernen had to know that his efforts wouldn’t hold up for long. Despite not yet having full control of the empire, Laile was the emperor—and in the two years since taking the throne, he hadn’t been idle. The palace was filled with informants eager to report to him.

Now that Yernen was within reach, uncovering the truth was only a matter of time. He had eyes on Yernen’s every move, from what he drank in the morning to who he spoke with. It was just a question of sifting through the details until he found the answers.

“Once I have those answers, the truth will come out,” Laile thought with a predatory smile.
For the first time in a long while, Laile felt genuinely excited. Ever since the devastating betrayal when he was fourteen, his heart had grown cold. But now, something was stirring again.

To Laile, this felt like a game. If he uncovered Yernen’s true identity before they had a child, he would win. If not, Yernen would.
Even so, something had shifted. Laile no longer felt the need to break Yernen completely. Maybe it was the familiarity they’d developed over time or perhaps a growing sense of pity for his elusive spouse.

“Keeping him around might not be such a bad idea after all,” Laile mused. It wasn’t affection that drove him—just a strange sense of sympathy. Yernen had clearly endured something terrible in the past. Maybe that’s why he’d been so resistant to the marriage.

Laile had no intention of being overly aggressive. All he needed was an heir, and as long as Yernen understood that, the pointless contract could be tossed aside. Laile wasn’t keen on keeping anyone close, but Yernen was proving to be a surprisingly suitable partner—proud and independent, not someone who would cling.
“If I find out who hurt him, I might even take care of them,” Laile thought. It wouldn’t make him a tyrant to remove a few deserving individuals. In fact, it could be seen as a just act.

Laile had always adhered to strict principles, punishing any soldiers under his command who committed atrocities. It had earned him respect on the battlefield and would do the same in the empire.

Yet, as Laile’s thoughts drifted in this direction, he failed to notice something significant—these weren’t the kinds of thoughts he usually entertained. Typically cold and calculating, Laile was now considering keeping Yernen close and even protecting him.
Only Laile’s most trusted knights, who had accompanied him through every battle, were beginning to sense the subtle changes in their lord’s behavior.

After Laile left, Yernen managed to calm his nerves, though a deep sense of frustration remained.

Somehow, he had unintentionally sparked Laile’s competitive nature, which was far from his original plan.

“Damn it, how did this even happen?” Yernen thought, feeling the weight of the situation.

Laile was known for his relentless drive—once he was determined to win, he wouldn’t stop until he did.

“Where did I go wrong?” Yernen wondered. He had tried to signal that he would cooperate as long as Laile didn’t dig too deeply into his identity.

Yet, somehow, things had taken a different turn.
“Has his brain turned to muscle after all those years on the battlefield?” Yernen thought bitterly.
Still, beneath his frustration, a wave of sadness crept in.

He didn’t want Laile to uncover the truth about him. More than anything, Yernen dreaded that outcome.

Everyone who knew what had happened to Yernen pitied him. No matter how much he projected strength or pretended he was fine, whenever the scars of his past resurfaced, those around him would always give him that same look of sympathy.
Those looks were worse than any humiliation. They cut deeper than any wound to his pride, making him feel more degraded than any act of cruelty ever had.

That’s why he preferred Laile to view him as a villain. It was better to be remembered as a ruthless tyrant than to be pitied as a victim, someone who had been broken and used.
Yernen would rather die than have Laile pity him.
His bitterness deepened as he gazed out the window.

The palace grounds were ablaze with the colors of autumn, the trees adorned in shades of red and gold.

There was a time when he walked those paths without a care in the world. Back then, as a prince, revered more than the emperor himself, the world seemed to be his for the taking.
And always, at his side, was Laile.

Yes, Laile had been there—whether they were exploring the maze-like gardens, strolling along the elegant paths bordered by hedges, or mingling in the grand halls of royal banquets. Laile had always been Yernen’s constant companion.

Yernen closed his eyes, the memories weighing heavily on him. One surfaced, perhaps the earliest memory he had—a fragment of the time when his life had been filled with nothing but glory, a glimpse of the shining childhood he had once known.