The Tyrant's Happy Ending - Chapter 11.2
But sending Tenes could only be interpreted as a move to ensure that he and Yernen wouldn’t meet during his absence.
“I’m fine with it, Your Majesty,” Tenes said, his expression impassive. He repeated it, unmoved, likely worried that disobeying Lyle’s orders might bring harm to Yernen. It was typical of Tenes. But Yernen thought differently.
“No. Stay put. I’ll handle this myself.”
Tenes seemed to think that Lyle’s command was simply to keep him from Yernen, but Yernen knew better.
He looked up at the sky. Darkness had already descended over the glass conservatory, signaling that Lyle would be arriving soon.
Days and nights had turned into a week. Lyle hadn’t come to see Yernen even once during that time.
Now, Yernen knew for certain. Lyle was deliberately avoiding him. If it were for no reason, Yernen would have been relieved. But there was a troubling possibility.
The possibility that Lyle had discovered his true identity.
Instead of relief, frustration built within Yernen. Tenes’s reassignment was like a spark falling on a pile of dry kindling.
Yernen resolved that tonight, he would confront Lyle and find out exactly what was going on in his head.
Sitting in his chair with arms crossed, his expression lined with irritation, Yernen waited.
Perhaps it was the soft wool blanket the nanny had draped over the chair or the fact that this was his usual sleep time, but sleepiness crept in.
Yernen fought against his heavy eyelids, determined to stay awake until Lyle arrived.
Time ticked by in the silent room, marked only by the steady ticking of the clock.
Finally, when the longest hand circled past midnight, signaling the day’s end, the bedroom door opened, and Lyle entered, looking utterly exhausted.
He paused upon seeing Yernen waiting for him, his eyes widening in surprise. He hadn’t expected it.
But the glare Yernen shot at him was far from welcoming. Given that Lyle hadn’t shown his face for a week, Yernen’s sharp gaze was hardly surprising.
Lyle seemed to notice this as he shifted his expression, his voice neutral as he asked, “Why are you still up? You’re usually asleep by now.”
Despite his casual tone, Lyle kept his distance, leaning against the door frame instead of approaching.
Yernen’s irritation simmered.
Compared to how Lyle had clung to him obsessively just a week ago, this was completely different. It was clear that he was avoiding Yernen. And there was no good reason for it.
With a voice filled with anger, Yernen shot out a question.
“Why are you sending Marquis Trizia to the north?”
“…Tenes Trizia?”
“Yes.”
Yernen’s tone sharpened.
“His family were founding contributors to the Empire, and he’s held the position of Imperial Knight Commander. His brother still serves in that position. But giving him an assignment suited for a hound undermines the Empire’s order. Why did you issue such a command?”
“…Ha.”
But Lyle responded to Yernen’s question with a dry chuckle, a sound that hinted at irritation.
“Since when did you get so close with Tenes Trizia, my Empress?”
“…What?”
“Isn’t it strange? When I said I was heading out to suppress the Eastern rebels, you said you’d be relieved not to have me clinging to you every night. But now, you’re angry that I’m sending him away.”
As he spoke, Lyle stepped closer, finally stopping in front of Yernen and staring down at him with a stern expression.
“Why are you opposed to him leaving?”
Yernen’s right eyebrow shot up as he stared at Lyle, as if to question what nonsense he was saying.
“Is that really what’s important right now?”
“It’s not?”
Under the moonlight, Lyle’s face became visible, and Yernen caught a glimpse of the emotion in his eyes. What he saw there was…
“…You.”
Yernen’s brow furrowed deeply.
“…I’m too tired for pointless arguments like this. I think it’s best if I sleep in another room tonight.”
“…….”
With that, Lyle left. Whether he was heading to another room in the Empress’s palace or finally returning to the Emperor’s quarters, Yernen didn’t know. Despite nothing being resolved, he found himself unable to stop Lyle from leaving.
The look in Lyle’s eyes as he stared at him—devoid of the teasing affection or warmth that used to linger there—was unmistakable.
What he saw now was clear, raw hatred.
Clatter, clatter!
The teacup rattled on the tray, the sound growing harsher with each movement. The more it clattered, the deeper Yernen’s frown became. He wanted to throw a cushion and send the servant out, but he didn’t have the energy to do so. So he merely sat there, waiting as Noah placed the teacup in front of him and withdrew.
Finally, the cup rested on the table, and the jarring noise of the clattering dishes ceased. Yernen lifted the teacup, brought it to his lips, but set it back down without taking a sip.
“Take it away.”
“Y-yes…!”
At Yernen’s sharp tone, Noah hunched his shoulders and hastily retrieved the cup with trembling hands. The clinking of the dishware grated on Yernen’s ears, deepening the scowl on his brow. The irritation stayed on his face until Noah exited the room.
“Ha.”
Yernen cracked the window open. The rush of cold air was a relief, if only a slight one.
What a mess. He had thought that having Noah around would improve things, but he was wrong. Two months had passed since Noah started serving him, and rather than getting better, his skills were only regressing.
“How does one even make tea smell so revolting?”
It was baffling.
Noah had taken forever to bring the tea, and when he did, the nauseating smell made Yernen think he’d used spoiled milk. It made holding back his retching difficult.
If he wanted comfort, using Russell as a servant would have been better, but he wasn’t inclined to do that. Russell was clearly one of Lyle’s men, and Yernen was currently, albeit unwillingly, in a cold war with Lyle.
That night, Yernen had managed to prevent Tenes from being sent north. But that was as far as he could go. Lyle eventually sent Tenes south instead, under the pretext of investigating military issues and temporarily acting as a stand-in for the Emperor.
At that point, there was no reason left to stop him, and Yernen had no choice but to let Tenes go.
That issue alone was enough to sour his mood, but Lyle had stopped even the brief visits he used to make in the dead of night since then.
“…….”
No matter how hard he tried to maintain his composure, it was impossible. The worries that had built up over a day or two had now been festering for two weeks. Questions gnawed at his mind relentlessly.
In the end, Yernen decided not to hold back any longer.
“Fine.”
What use was it to wait and gauge the other’s reaction? That wasn’t who Yernen Helio was.
It was better to confront him directly, see his reaction, and ask bluntly to get a clear sense of what was going on before making future plans.
After all, he was half sure of it already—that Lyle had discovered his identity. The only saving grace was that it seemed Lyle hadn’t yet figured out everything about Yernen’s past.
Yernen stood slowly, glancing out the window. The sky, perpetually gloomy and dark, hadn’t changed today. It was so overcast it was hard to tell whether it was day or night.
It looks like snow.
The memory of that day surfaced without reason—the day he executed Benjamin Lecruzet and Lizzie Merion.
Was it because the sky today was so much like it had been then? A sky that seemed to forewarn bad things to come.
Yernen opened the door and called out to the attendant standing nearby.
“Marianne.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
“Where’s Noah?”
“I saw him leaving with the tea.”
“Tell him to come back. Prepare for an outing.”
“Understood, Your Majesty.”
As Yernen turned back into his room, he paused and glanced at Marianne as if he had just remembered something.
“From tomorrow on, you will handle the tea service instead of Noah.”
“Ah…”
Marianne hesitated briefly before replying.
“I did hear that from Noah, but when I checked, the tea seemed fine. Is there something specific that seemed wrong to Your Majesty?”
“…?”
Yernen’s brow shot up. How could she not notice the revolting smell? Had everyone lost their sense of smell?
“Everything was a mess.”
Marianne nodded with a troubled expression.
“Understood. I’ll do my best starting tomorrow.”
“Good. Now, get ready.”
“Yes.”
Watching Marianne’s resolute face, Yernen returned to his room.
“Y-Your Majesty…?”
Yernen turned his head toward the voice, already recognizing the owner of the familiar, foolish tone—Stephen.
In his previous life, that fool, who was once his cousin, seemed to have been born without any trace of the brilliance of the Marriage family. He was someone who could hardly be called clever.