The Tyrant's Happy Ending - Chapter 1.6

When Yernen returned after washing up, he was relieved not to see Lyle in his room. He assumed the madness had finally ended. But when he descended to the dining hall, there was Lyle, sitting comfortably at the center of the room.

Yernen’s eyebrows shot up in frustration.

“Why are you still here?”

“I never said I was leaving. I’ll be here all day.”

“What? Who said you could?”

“I already got permission from the Duke.”
“Damn it,” Yernen muttered.

It seemed Lyle had already contacted the Duke, who had left the capital on a tour of his lands. With the head of the house’s permission secured, there wasn’t much Yernen could say to make Lyle leave.

“And why were you so late coming down?” Lyle continued. “The chef, bold as he is, actually told me that unless you came down, I wouldn’t be served anything. Imagine, I’ve been here this whole time and haven’t even had a sip of water.”

“…Let them know they can serve the meal now.”

“Yes, sir,” one of the attendants responded.

Feeling slightly better now that the chef at least respected his rank, Yernen confidently took his place at the head of the table.

Lyle watched him with an amused smirk. He could only imagine what would have happened if he’d mentioned that the meal had been ready as soon as Yernen came downstairs, and that he’d held it up deliberately. The poor chef would probably face Yernen’s wrath, so Lyle decided to keep that little detail to himself.

That temper of Yernen’s… it was eerily familiar.

“Is it really genetic?” Lyle thought to himself.
Of course, it couldn’t be. The person in front of him wasn’t the real Fortnum heir. And it wasn’t as if Cecile, Yernen’s mother, had a similar temperament.

But still, the way Yernen acted… it was so much like someone else. Lyle couldn’t help but think of the one person who had that same ruthless attitude.

The thought crossed his mind—what if it really was him? But he dismissed it quickly. He knew better. The temple had confirmed that Yernen had entered the cycle of reincarnation. It couldn’t possibly be the same person. Yernen was… gone for good.

And yet, every time the Fortnum heir acted a certain way, memories of Yernen came rushing back, stirring something deep inside Lyle—something dark and dangerous. In those moments, his amusement would give way to a terrible, gnawing feeling, and he would be gripped by the urge to snap that slender neck in front of him and end it all.

‘But I can’t, can I?’ Lyle reminded himself.
He couldn’t die, not now. His responsibilities were far too heavy, and there was something about Yernen’s death that never sat right with him.

Yes, Yernen had been a tyrant, no doubt about that. He’d spilled enough noble and common blood alike to fill rivers. But something about the circumstances of his death… it felt off.

Someone had gone to extreme lengths to erase all traces of information. The royal knights who had once loyally served Yernen were now suspiciously uncooperative, and those who might know the truth kept their lips sealed. Two years had passed, and despite his efforts, Lyle’s investigation into Yernen’s death had stalled.

Lyle’s determination only grew stronger, as if the limitations of his so-called absolute power were mocking his inability to uncover the truth. It fueled his competitive nature, and he vowed to find out what really happened to him. He needed to understand why Yernen had betrayed him.

Though the memory filled him with a burning rage, a fury that made him want to destroy everything around him, and though part of him wished they could both be dead together if Yernen somehow returned, the truth was, he still…

“What are you doing?” a voice snapped.

“Huh?” Lyle was jolted out of his thoughts.

“If you’re not going to eat, then leave,” came the sharp retort.

“Ah.”

It was the Fortnum heir—his face a mirror of Yernen’s, complete with the same irritable expression Yernen wore whenever he was in a bad mood.

‘Just like him,’ Lyle thought bitterly.

The only thing missing was that tear-shaped mole under the right eye. Otherwise, the resemblance was uncanny.

A bitter smile formed on Lyle’s lips.
Maybe it wasn’t exactly the same. Perhaps this was just a ghost—his mind’s cruel way of making him feel like Yernen was still here, haunting his thoughts. Maybe this wasn’t real at all, but a painful illusion his heart had created to make him feel as if Yernen were forever lingering just out of reach.

“…I’ll eat,” Lyle muttered, picking up his spoon.

The slightly cooled cream stew tasted surprisingly sweet, similar to the meals served in the imperial palace during his childhood—back when Yernen was still a prince. It was obvious the chef had prepared it to suit Yernen’s fondness for sweet flavors, evoking memories of those royal meals.

Of course, this made sense. Cecile had brought over the chef who used to cook for Yernen to the Fortnum estate.

But for some reason, the taste unsettled Lyle. He found it hard to maintain his composure.

“Now that you’ve had your meal, don’t you think it’s time you left?” Yernen’s voice broke into his thoughts again, laced with irritation.
Once again, Lyle had followed him back to his room after breakfast, and Yernen, clearly frustrated, issued yet another demand for him to leave.

But the more Yernen ordered him to go, the more Lyle wanted to stay. In fact, the repeated commands only fueled his desire to remain.
Lyle had always had a bit of a contrary streak. He wondered if the Fortnum heir had picked up on that.

‘Probably not,’ Lyle thought, smiling to himself. If he asked, Yernen would likely vehemently deny it, probably throwing a tantrum. Just picturing that reaction made Lyle smirk.

“Look, I didn’t come here without a reason. We’ve got preparations to make before the royal wedding. If you keep telling me to leave, I’ll just stick around even longer out of spite.”
Yernen’s face twisted in frustration.

‘Damn it,’ Yernen thought, realizing exactly what kind of person he was dealing with.
Now that he thought about it… this was exactly who Lyle Belltimore was. The kind of person who’d do the opposite just to be difficult. A brat who’d grin while being smacked with a wooden sword. A stubborn fool who never left even when told to.

He had nearly forgotten about these traits of Lyle’s, but now they were resurfacing.
Realizing his mistake, Yernen cleared his throat. Telling him to leave was only making him stick around more. Maybe if he switched tactics—if he was kinder, more welcoming—Lyle might finally go away on his own.

Sometimes, the best way to deal with someone stubborn was to reverse the approach entirely.
“What is it that needs preparing, exactly?” Yernen asked, his voice tinged with frustration.
“There’s a whole group of people who’ve been waiting for you to ask that,” Lyle replied with a sly grin.

At that moment, a polite knock came from the door.

“Come in,” Lyle called out in an overly familiar tone, as if it were his own room. No sooner had the words left his mouth than a swarm of people flooded into the room.

“…What is all this?” Yernen asked, looking around in surprise as his once spacious room was filled with vibrant jewels and luxurious fabrics, leaving barely any space to stand.

“What do you think? Surely, you’re not planning to show up at the wedding ceremony in your birthday suit, are you?”

Of course, that wasn’t the plan.

Now that he thought about it, Yernen remembered when Cecile got married, there had been a similar preparation process—choosing the finest fabrics and trying on stunning jewelry. It was a spectacle, to say the least.

But Yernen had never considered that he, too, would have to prepare for a wedding. The reality of it hadn’t quite hit him until now. The room filled with all the wedding materials made it feel more real, more tangible.

A strange feeling settled over him—something bittersweet, perhaps even melancholic.
‘It feels… unsettling.’

As he inspected the delicate rings set before him, handling them as if they might break at the slightest touch, Lyle’s gaze never left him. Lyle’s expression darkened as he watched Yernen’s every move.

“It’s been a while, hasn’t it, Your Grace?” Lyle said casually.

Yernen wasn’t sure what to address first—should he question why Lyle was in his room again? Or should he point out that “a while” wasn’t a term you used when you’d seen someone just three days ago?

After deliberating, Yernen finally settled on the appropriate response.

“Get out.”

“So cold.”

“I said, get out!” Yernen snapped.

“Fine, I’ll wait for you in the sitting room.”

“No, you idiot! I meant leave the estate!” Yernen yelled.

“Love you too,” Lyle replied with a mischievous grin.

“You bastard…” Yernen grabbed a nearby marble vase, but Lyle made a swift exit before it could be hurled at him.

“That was too much, Your Majesty,” the nanny chimed in.

“Yes, far too much!” added Tommy, standing loyally by Yernen’s side.

They had every right to defend him. Yernen had just come out of the bath, and Lyle had barged in while the nanny was about to help him into his robe, leaving Yernen completely exposed.

Though Lyle had waited until Yernen was properly dressed before making eye contact, the offense was already committed. Where had his eyes wandered in that brief moment of silence? Even for an engaged couple, it was outrageously rude.
“That lunatic acts like this is his own house,” Yernen muttered in irritation.

Normally, the nanny would have tactfully suggested that Yernen show more respect to the emperor, but this time, she only offered an awkward laugh.

“So, why are you here this time?” Yernen asked, his voice dripping with boredom.

Though it might have seemed like Yernen was simply lounging around, he was actually quite busy. Determined to make up for what he hadn’t been able to learn in his previous life, he had hired the most distinguished tutors to give him private lessons at home.

With his wedding approaching, he knew his time for study would soon be limited, so he dedicated his days to learning, often studying late into the night.

Meanwhile, Lyle Belltimore, the so-called emperor, seemed to have little concern for state affairs, visiting Yernen every few days. Even though the Fortnum estate was close to the palace, it still took an hour on horseback to get there, given the palace’s vast size. Yet Lyle would come by, claiming he wanted to have tea, join him for breakfast, or watch him study—offering the most trivial reasons.

“Today, we’ve got somewhere to go,” Lyle announced.

“I have a lesson in an hour,” Yernen replied curtly.

“Not anymore. Edward won’t be coming today.”
“…What?” Yernen asked, confused by the sudden mention of his economics tutor.

“He’s agreed to become my economic advisor and will be working at the palace from today onward.”
“What?!” Yernen exclaimed, utterly baffled by Lyle’s words.

Just yesterday, the tutor had been coming and going from the manor as usual, and now Lyle was claiming he was otherwise engaged?