The Tyrant's Happy Ending - Chapter 1.3

But still.

‘This isn’t acceptable.’

Yernen Helio had lived his entire life being revered by others. As the proud former emperor’s son and the only legitimate heir, he would never tolerate disrespect.

Thus, Yernen resolved,

‘Now that I’m marrying him again, I won’t tolerate any insolence.’

He was determined to assert his authority over his fiancé.

Lyle walked through the rose garden, a mix of white and red flowers blooming around him. As he walked, he sensed someone watching him. He turned slowly.

“……”

As expected. Someone stood behind the large window of the mansion’s sunniest room on the third floor, watching him.

It was Yernen Fortnum Helio—his fiancé, the one he had just spoken with.

“Yernen… or should I call you Lord Fortnum now? It feels strange, doesn’t it?” Stephan said awkwardly.

“It does,” Lyle agreed, “especially with the shared name, even if it’s traditional.”
“Indeed.”

The Helio royal family had a peculiar tradition. There were a total of 24 names that could be used for royalty, and the name one received was based on the time of birth. These names were considered sacred, which meant that commoners were forbidden from using them. Over time, the list of forbidden names grew so long that it led to this rigid tradition, though the exact details of when it started were lost to history.

According to this tradition, royals born at the beginning of January received the name “Heriet,” those born in late April were given the name “Ilian,” and those born at the start of August, when the sun was at its warmest, were named “Cecil.”

Yernen was born between mid to late October, and so he received the name “Yernen.”

Ironically, Yernen Fortnum Helio was originally supposed to be born in November and would have received the name “Beinan,” after Cecil’s father. However, due to a twist of fate, Cecil gave birth prematurely, and her child was named Yernen instead.

It was a rare occurrence in the royal family for two members of the same generation to share a name, as royal births were scarce. But in this case, two royal children, only seven years apart, ended up with the same name.

To make matters worse, one of them was Yernen, known for his terrible temper. The situation caused quite a stir in the palace.

After the storm had passed, Cecil’s son, born later than the youngest prince, was referred to as “Lord Fortnum.” The title was not incorrect, and since the young lord had never even risen from his sickbed, no one felt guilty for calling him that. Besides, over time, the name “Yernen” itself became something of an untouchable, and so the young lord continued to be called Lord Fortnum.

“Why did Lord Fortnum leave the room earlier?” Stephan asked.

“Ah.”

A charming, almost mischievous smile played on Lyle’s lips. Thinking back to the earlier encounter with Yernen piqued his curiosity.
“He wants to break off the engagement.”

“W-what?!” came an immediate shriek from nearby.
“Why the shock?” Lyle asked calmly.

“Are you seriously asking that? Breaking the engagement? Are you out of your mind? How can you be smiling right now?”

“Well…”

It was funny, and it wasn’t as if he could help but laugh.

“It seems our dear fiancé has quite the temper. Could it be hereditary?”

“H-he-hereditary?”

“Come on, Stephan. Why are you stuttering? Jernen’s your cousin, isn’t he?”

“Yes, of course,” Stephan replied in a timid tone.

“But if that temper runs in the family, that’d be a disaster… ahem!”

Stephan, timid as his appearance suggested, couldn’t finish his sentence as he caught Lyle’s gaze.

“But what will you do?” Stephan continued nervously. “If the engagement is broken off, that would be catastrophic. The country could fall apart.”

“True, but… I doubt he’s serious about calling off the engagement.”

Lyle thought back to his earlier encounter with Lord Fortnum.

To be fair, Yernen’s attitude had been somewhat impudent from the start. Despite being his fiancé, Lyle had barely paid any attention to him for two years, visiting only once shortly after Yernen had woken from his coma. And even then, Lyle had only taken a brief glance at Yernen’s sleeping face before leaving.

Lyle had been indifferent throughout that time, and now, with the wedding just four months away, he had come to announce the state marriage. And, of course, he’d chosen to deliver this news early in the morning, knowing full well that Yernen would not be prepared.

Even if it wasn’t Lord Fortnum but another noble confronting Lyle about breaking off the engagement, it would have been a significant issue. Yet, from Lyle’s perspective, it was inevitable.

He didn’t like Lord Fortnum. The engagement itself was a symbol of humiliation for him, and beyond that…

‘…Being forced to have a child with someone I don’t want—it’s unbearable.’

So, he acted out a little.

But what he received in return was completely unexpected.

‘To think he wouldn’t even show up.’
Lyle couldn’t help but chuckle when he thought about it. It was absurd—the young noble, conscious for only two years, had made the Emperor of the nation wait.

The waiting had felt agonizingly long, and with each passing moment, Lyle’s mood soured further.
And when Lord Fortnum finally showed up after what seemed like an eternity… Lyle’s already bad mood hit rock bottom.

“…….”

Even two years ago, when he had only glimpsed the boy asleep, Lord Fortnum had resembled his uncle Jernen more than his mother Cecil.

‘No, aside from the fact that he doesn’t have the tear mole, he looks exactly the same.’

Yernen had a small tear mole under his right eye, which Lord Fortnum lacked.

Apart from looking a bit more youthful and slightly neater than Yernen, Lord Fortnum’s appearance was identical to that of Yernen Helio.

So, without thinking, Lyle had been sarcastic.

‘Why should I be polite to someone like you?’

But what came back was a sharp retort.

‘I didn’t expect that.’

Though Lyle had sensed something was off from the reports, this meeting confirmed it.

‘That’s not the real one.’

The Lord Fortnum in that mansion was a fake.

‘No, to be precise, the body is real. But the soul inside… that’s the imposter.’

Lyle had watched Lord Fortnum carefully from the moment he entered the room until the moment he left.

During their interaction, Lord Fortnum had only taken one sip of tea.

It was a simple action, but it wasn’t something one could master in just two years. His movements were far too refined, the kind of elegance that comes from a lifetime of practice.

Then there was his speech.

‘He was using the sophisticated language of high-ranking capital nobles.’

It wasn’t just that. His pronunciation bore the distinctive arrogance of royalty, something Cecil might have taught him, butthe foundation of his speech was unusual.

Lord Fortnum spoke like someone raised in the capital. There wasn’t a trace of the southern accent.

‘A boy who grew up surrounded by southern maids and servants, who’s only been conscious for two years, speaks like a capital native?’

There was only one explanation: he had already mastered the language before waking up.

Although Lyle had joked with Stephan about royal temperament being hereditary, it was just a joke. He didn’t believe it for a moment.

This boy was an imposter.
‘Believing he’s the real one would be the strange thing.’

Though Lyle hadn’t made a personal visit to Lord Fortnum, he had consistently received updates. Even skimming through them, it was clear that Fortnum’s rapid development was nothing short of extraordinary. Mastering the Imperial language within a year of awakening? To not be suspicious would have been even stranger.

But that wasn’t the real issue at hand.
The question of whether the soul inside Fortnum Helio’s body belonged to the true Lord Fortnum didn’t really matter.

What mattered to the nobles and the citizens of the Empire was simple: they only wanted Fortnum to bear Lyle Beltimore’s child, ensuring the continuity of the divine Helio bloodline.
The real concern was whether this unknown soul occupying Fortnum’s body would cooperate. If they started getting clingy, demanding affection, or playing political games by aligning with various factions, it would become a serious problem.
Lyle stepped into the carriage headed for the Imperial Palace.

“It seems the young lord wants to play house… I suppose, as his fiancé, I’ll have to entertain him,” he mused.

As long as Fortnum’s body would provide him with the heir he needed, Lyle was willing to indulge the young lord’s whims. He had no intention of relinquishing the throne.

With the aristocratic faction still holding significant power, losing control of the imperial authority could result in a disaster like the one from twelve years ago, when the people of the North had been enslaved and killed. Lyle had a duty to protect his people, and for that, he needed a successor to secure his position.
However, even once he had solidified his rule, he had no intention of allowing that strange, unruly royal to continue unchecked.

‘What should I do first?’

Stripping Fortnum of the empress title would be a start. There might not be a precedent for annulling an imperial marriage, but Lyle thought, why not? The Empire wouldn’t collapse just because it didn’t have an empress.

‘Why was he staring at me like that?’

Yernen frowned, clearly irritated.

“That insufferable man.”

“Y-Your Majesty?”

“Who else would I be talking about?”

“Ah, I see. Please, my lord, have some tea.”

Tommy awkwardly offered Yernen a cup, hoping to ease the tension.

“I don’t want it.”

It was a sweet milk tea, likely prepared by his nanny. Normally, Yernen would have accepted it—he had a weakness for the sugary drink that always hit the spot—but he’d already had some that morning and wasn’t in the mood for more.
“Understood,” Tommy quickly nodded and swiftly took the cup away, knowing better than to linger when Yernen was in a bad mood.

“I want to be alone.”

“Yes, sir!”

With a quick retreat, Tommy exited the room, leaving Yernen to his thoughts.

Yernen glanced back toward Lyle, who was still watching him.

“He’s still as handsome as ever,” Yernen muttered under his breath. ‘Maybe even more so than before.’

That smug, overconfident look on Lyle’s face was exactly as Yernen remembered from their last encounter before his death. His jet-black hair, which almost gleamed with a hint of blue, hadn’t changed. And those deep, blue eyes—so dark they resembled an endless abyss—seemed even deeper now, yet just as intense as ever.

But why did it feel different now…?
‘Is it because of his scent?’

Yernen recalled the faint, heavy fragrance that lingered around Lyle. In their society, where concealing pheromones was a norm of etiquette, it was nearly impossible to hide every trace. The residual scent was likely Lyle’s natural one—a fragrance Yernen had never experienced before.
That scent suited Lyle, adding a sense of something new, perhaps even something stronger.
And that was likely why Lyle seemed different now.

Yernen felt a pang of bitterness.

‘He must have figured it out by now—that I’m not Yernen Fortnum Helio.’

Lyle wasn’t a fool. By now, he would’ve pieced together the truth, just as Yernen had planned.
Everything was progressing according to plan.
From the start, Yernen had no intention of hiding the fact that he wasn’t the real Lord Fortnum.
‘Even the Duke has probably realized it by now.’
Only Cecile, as clueless as ever, and Leon—Cecile’s adoptive son, who was just as foolish despite not being of Helio blood—would likely remain in the dark. They were too dull to see the truth.

Yernen knew his own nature. There was no way he could tolerate pretending to be some simpering child for years. Even if he had tried, it would have been obvious eventually. So, he chose not to conceal it from the beginning. Better to act freely and let people draw their own conclusions than to be exposed in a humiliating way later.