The Tyrant's Happy Ending - Chapter 14.4

He hadn’t expected to run into her here.

Still, the chances of being recognized were slim. Yernenne was cloaked, with only his height and build exposed. It shouldn’t be enough for recognition.

The figure approaching looked lost in deep thought, her expression somber as she stared at the ground. If Yernenne kept his composure, he could walk past unnoticed.

With his hood pulled low, Yernenne walked carefully, trying to remain calm.

The distance between them closed, and the woman passed him by.
Did I get away with it?

But the brief relief dissolved when he heard it: the sound of her footsteps stopping.

In the silence of the hallway, the soft swish of a gown brushing the floor was followed by—

“Yernenne…?”

Damn.

He’d been caught.

A tense line appeared between Yernenne’s brows.

This is bad.

He couldn’t fathom how she recognized him without seeing his face. Was it some kind of maternal instinct? It seemed unlikely, considering he wasn’t her real son.

Yernenne cast aside any pretense of a slow pace and quickened his stride. She did the same.

“Yernenne!”

The low click of her heels on the marble grew louder, and she was closing in, ready to grab him. But just as she reached for his wrist, Justin stepped between them.

“Duchess of Portnum, is it not?”

Justin smiled awkwardly, positioning himself to block her view of Yernenne.
“…It has been some time, Sir Justin.”
Despite her clear worry about the figure behind Justin, Cecil maintained her refined composure and greeted him with polite civility.

“What brings you here at this late hour?”

“I came to pray… Would you kindly step aside, Sir Justin?”

“Pardon? Is there a reason why? Ah, is it because of the child behind me? He is my pupil, not the Empress.”

“Don’t lie to me. That can’t be. Please, move aside…!”

Despite Justin’s calm bluff, Cecil didn’t believe him, and their voices grew louder.

It was late at night, and few people were around, but making such a commotion would soon attract attention. Cecil’s attendants were likely waiting nearby.

Hah!
.
Yernenne sighed deeply and entered the royal prayer room. Realizing he had given silent permission, Justin shrugged and stepped aside to let Cecil pass.

“Yernenne…!”

Despite her urgent call, Yernenne didn’t look back as he walked purposefully inside. He only stopped once he reached the ornate crystal resting on a velvet cushion.

Cecil’s footsteps echoed behind him, stopping just a breath away.

Yet once inside, she said nothing, despite all her apparent longing to speak.

Yernenne picked up the Ithana crystal and turned around.
Standing before him was a middle-aged woman with a face lined with sorrow. Familiar yet distant—the face of a sister he had once loved.

“Yernenne… Are you eating well? Melissa has been unwell lately, and I was worried….”

“……”

“Why are you holding that crystal? And why are you dressed like this…?”

Cecil’s eyes flicked nervously to Yernenne’s hands. Yernenne finally spoke.

“Sister.”

“……”

Cecil’s eyes widened, trembling with disbelief. But Yernenne continued.

“You’re so foolish. You still think I’m truly your son when everyone else knows I’m not.”

Shock slowly spread across Cecil’s face. Only three people could call her “sister,” and only one would behave as the person before her did.

“Ye… Yernenne…?”

Thud!

The crystal fell to the marble floor with a dull sound, cracking in several places.

“The son you cherished so much never woke up, not even once.”
It was a truth long buried. He had thought speaking it would feel liberating, but it didn’t. Watching Cecil’s stricken face was anything but satisfying.

Still, it had to be done. This would keep Cecil from following. She was… too weak for that.

When he first escaped the hut and returned to the palace, he had hated Cecil with every fiber of his being—for not visiting, for not seeking out the truth.

But over time, resentment was replaced by longing. Because to hate someone meant you still cared deeply for them.

Even in the moments before his death, Yernenne had longed for her. But when he awoke in this body, the hate surged back.
He remembered those first days vividly.

When he was too frail to even lift an arm, breathing and blinking the only proof of life. Cecil cared for him as if he were her own, devoting herself to him with unmatched love.

The young Portnum heir’s body had lain bedridden for eighteen years, too long for any amount of divine power to keep it intact. Yet when Yernenne awoke, his borrowed body was spotless, meticulously kept.

It was as if it had never been neglected for a single day.

Yernenne would ask Roxy every day. Would his sister visit today? Would she come this summer? Would she leave the estate to see him on his birthday?

But Cecil never came to see him.

Even when he was trapped on the island, he always hoped. Hoped that Cecil would come to find him. But Cecil… never did.
Yes, that’s how it was. Yet during all that time, Cecil had been devoutly caring for her nephew. While his real body lay ruined, rotting in the ground…!

Because of this, Yernenne had hated Cecil, resented her. But, ironically, at the end of that deep-seated hatred, what came over him was… fear.

Yernenne knew that, in the end, he had taken the place of the son she cherished so dearly. When Cecil discovered this, she would undoubtedly resent him.

Pathetically, despite the passage of so much time, Yernenne still loved Cecil as much as he hated her.

So he couldn’t stay by her side. Because if he did, he would have to truly face her.

But now it was over. Yernenne would leave and never return to the palace. This would be the last time with Cecil. Maybe, in a way, that was better. Cecil might resent him, but she wouldn’t have to keep searching for her son anymore.

With that thought, Yernenne moved past her, intending to leave the prayer room. But Cecil grasped his hand firmly.

“…?”

“Yernenne…!”

A choked sob escaped her. It was the sound of someone whose heart was shattering, a mother mourning her lost child. But even with such grief, Cecil didn’t let go of Yernenne’s hand.

“Don’t go, please…!”

Her trembling voice broke into quiet sobs, full of grief and desperation. It was a plea so sorrowful that it nearly rooted Yernenne to the spot.

“Don’t go… it was all my fault…”

“……”

After Yernenne’s death, it was revealed within the Portnum household that Harriet was not truly of imperial bl00d. Cecil came to know that the truth was far different from what she had believed.

So the apology she now offered was for that day and for all the hardships of Yernenne’s previous life. It was an acknowledgment that even if he wasn’t the son she had cherished, she was sorry, and that Yernenne himself was enough.

But Yernenne bit his lip and coldly shook her hand away.

“If you’re truly sorry, don’t stop me.”

Beneath the gray-tinted, golden lashes, his eyes held a hint of pain.

“Today… we never met.”

The sound of Cecil collapsing to the floor and the choked, muffled cries that followed clung to Yernenne’s feet like shackles, begging him not to leave.

But Yernenne moved his heavy feet across the prayer room. The soft sound of his footsteps echoed in his ears.

Justin glanced back frequently, his face lined with worry as he asked Yernenne, “Are you sure about this? What if the duchess tells His Majesty…?”

“She won’t.”

That much was certain. Cecil would never tell Lyle that she had met Yernenne. Because Yernenne didn’t want her to.

“And keep your idle chatter to yourself. We’re here.”

With his hood pulled low, Yernenne kept his head down as he and Justin approached the teleportation array.

Standing near the array, Tennes was talking with a pair of mages, their faces flushed from conversation.

“Ah, Marquess Trizia, it seems your attendants have arrived.”

“Indeed.”

“Let’s prepare for your departure. It was an honor to speak with you.”

With that, the mages began the final preparations. Yernenne stayed behind Tennes, out of sight. Luckily, all attention was on Tennes, and no one noticed him.

“Safe travels, my lord.”

Even as the final farewell was spoken, no one looked their way.
The view blurred, and Yernenne felt the familiar, unsettling sensation of being pulled somewhere. It was a feeling he never got used to. Eyes closed, he endured the nausea that twisted his stomach.

When the sensation finally faded, Yernenne opened his eyes.
The scene before him was nothing like the marble corridors and statues that filled the palace. Now, four pillars held up a white roof, and beyond them, a wide plain stretched under the early spring dawn.

On that crisp morning breeze, Yernenne and his knights had arrived in Velika.

The sound of the wind sweeping through the plains felt peaceful, like freedom, almost enough to convince him it was all over.
But Yernenne knew better. The real challenge was only beginning.
Lyle Beltimore was, after all, a man with an obsessive streak.

“It’s no use… It looks impossible even here.”

Yernenne ground his teeth as he peered down the mountain. For all his talk of obsession, Lyle had gone too far this time.

“That lunatic….”

The Trizia Marquessate’s fortress walls, situated below, were encircled by imperial forces as if laying siege to an enemy stronghold. Even the waterways were blocked, making the place as impenetrable as it could get.

Yernenne spoke in disbelief. “Did he not even stop at Velika?”
Otherwise, how could Lyle have occupied the Marquessate so quickly?

The Velika Barony bordered the Trizia Marquessate. Even traveling on foot, it would have taken a week to reach it.

But Yernenne, too weak to walk for long stretches, had traveled by carriage, rushing day and night, and managed to arrive in just three days.

Yet Lyle had beaten them to it, despite being drugged into a deep sleep.

Yernenne glared daggers at Justin.

“You said he wouldn’t wake for three days.”

“Well, that’s for normal people! His Majesty… isn’t exactly normal, is he? So I guess it’s possible he woke up a bit earlier than expected… but I didn’t think it would be this soon.”

Justin’s face was a mix of guilt and frustration.

“Forget it. What’s done is done. We need to focus on what to do now. If any of those soldiers start searching the mountain, we’ll be captured right away.”

Yernenne’s face was tight with irritation. To be caught after only three days would be humiliating. He could accept capture after years, but not now—not when his pride was at stake.
He folded his arms and looked at his knights.

“What’s the plan?”

“Well…”

Justin started, hesitated, then shut his mouth. But Yernenne already knew what he was going to say. There was a solution, albeit a problematic one. It was so troublesome that Yernenne would never choose it unless forced.

“…Looks like there’s only one way.”

“Seems so…”

“Hah.”

Yernenne exhaled heavily.

There was no way to reach Fleur without using the teleportation array. The journey over land would take two months, and the Fleur territory was under strict surveillance due to slavers operating nearby. This had prompted inspections ordered by officials from the capital.

Returning to Velika was also out of the question. It was likely in a similar state.

The only option left was to cross into the neighboring domain of an ally, someone extremely friendly to Yernenne—Aaron Partash.
The issue? It would take a week to climb the mountains and get there. And Aaron Partash himself was the problem.

“Come on, Your Majesty, is there really an issue?” Justin said, trying to sound upbeat.

“Do you really think there isn’t?”

“Well… the worst that could happen is a bit of revolutionary talk…”

Justin’s eyes darted to Yernenne, watching his reaction.
And that was the biggest issue.

Aaron Partash would likely raise an army on the spot, claiming Lyle’s head and crowning Yernenne whether he wanted it or not.

Even if Yernenne refused, Aaron would shed a few impassioned tears and still gather forces.