The Tyrant's Happy Ending - Chapter 16.3
Beyond the white light, the grand sight of the Papal Palace came into view. Yernen stared at it, murmuring to himself.
‘Leaving took forever, but returning took no time at all.’
A moment after opening his eyes and having a light meal, a teleportation circle had been set up, bringing them straight back to the Imperial Palace.
“Y-Your Majesty…!”
As the light dissipated and they stepped onto the marble floor, a voice full of emotion reached Yernen’s ears. He turned to see his nursemaid and Noah, eyes red and filled with relief.
Ignoring their tearful gazes, Yernen glanced around and spotted another familiar face—Rudy, waving energetically with shining eyes.
He responded with a slight nod.
“Are you really okay?” a familiar, teasing voice interrupted from the side.
“…Seems so.”
Yernen’s reply was indifferent. Though he’d been reassured during the meal that everyone, from the knights to Rudy and the captives, was safe, seeing Rudy made it more real. He mentally noted to arrange a conversation with Denver soon.
As Yernen started walking, a line of people followed in procession behind him, their steady footfalls making the return to the palace feel real.
Everywhere they walked, curious, worried, or fearful eyes turned and bowed. But Yernen didn’t acknowledge them, stepping into the waiting carriage in front of the Papal Palace.
The journey to the Empress’s quarters was smooth, the familiar palace grounds slipping by like a distant memory. It felt strange, as if he were returning home for the first time since he was fourteen.
The carriage halted, and Yernen dismounted with an escort. He glanced sideways at the figure who had stuck close to him all the way from the Papal Palace. Lyle met his gaze with a playful grin, unbothered by Yernen’s sharp look.
“…Sigh. Follow if you must.”
But unlike before, Yernen no longer pushed him away. There was no need.
Catching the subtle shift in Yernen’s demeanor, Lyle took the outer robe Yernen shed and handled it with practiced ease, like an experienced attendant.
“What do you want to do first?” Lyle asked.
“A bath. Now.”
With a nod, Lyle signaled the servants to prepare it before they reached the room. Yernen chuckled at the familiar efficiency. Some things, it seemed, never changed.
“What’s this?”
Yernen’s expression was one of disbelief as he looked at Lyle, who had followed him all the way into the bathroom like an anxious puppy with separation anxiety.
“What do you mean?” Lyle’s response was as nonchalant as ever.
“Why did you follow me in here?”
“You used to let me help with your baths, didn’t you?” Lyle shrugged, as if the answer was obvious.
“You…”
Yernen sighed, unable to find the right words for this shameless man. Telling him that an emperor shouldn’t be attending someone’s bath would be useless. He knew Lyle would ignore it anyway.
“Do as you please.”
“With pleasure,” Lyle said, a mischievous smile spreading across his face. He began to remove the thick layers of Yernen’s clothing, leaving him in a thin bathrobe before lifting him effortlessly into the warm, petal-strewn bath.
It was, indeed, a time where Yernen did not have to lift a finger. Lyle washed his hair with care, lathered his body with a soft, sudsy sponge, and gently rinsed him clean. Afterward, he toweled Yernen dry, wrapped him in a fresh robe, and carried him to the bed, where he began to apply a soothing cream with slow, methodical movements.
Yernen surrendered to the sensation, Lyle’s hands skillfully massaging his tired limbs. When those hands reached his stomach, they slowed, sweeping with tender deliberation. The subtle touch made Yernen blush, and he tugged at the robe, his voice edged with embarrassment.
“That’s enough.”
Lyle’s intentions were clear, but the act still flustered Yernen.
“It’s not necessary,” Yernen muttered, “I’ll recover with the divine power anyway.”
“I’m doing it because I want to,” Lyle said simply.
There was nothing Yernen could say to that. He turned his head away, letting Lyle finish. The meticulous hands worked down to his feet, smoothing over every inch until they were both done and Yernen felt ready to drift off.
Lyle gently dried his hair, the soft strands swaying under warm air. The rhythmic motions made Yernen’s head bob, eyelids drooping. Once he was dressed in comfortable sleepwear and tucked into bed, he was already half-asleep.
“All I did was eat and bathe, and I’m already sleepy,” Yernen murmured.
“That’s normal. Pregnant people need more rest,” Lyle said, patting Yernen’s shoulder with the same care he’d used when lulling him to sleep as a restless child. Within moments, Yernen’s breathing evened out, peaceful in sleep.
Lyle continued to watch him, his hand lingering before brushing across Yernen’s right temple, his thumb covering the corner of his eye.
The serene expression Yernen wore when he slept—it hadn’t changed. The same face he’d seen before, in another life and now in this one.
“Yernen…”
The name fell from Lyle’s lips, and he pulled Yernen closer, feeling the warmth of his breath against his chest. Yernen was alive, whole, here. After so long, after so much, he had him back, and he would never let him go again.
He took the ring from the bedside table and slipped it onto Yernen’s finger. The ring, once adorning Yernen’s hand before he left the palace, was back where it belonged. The only difference now was that it would never come off again.
Lyle’s hand trembled as he touched Yernen’s ring finger, the memory sharp and painful. He remembered how that hand, when he last held it, was not as clean as it was now.
Yernen, the most dignified soul, who should have been wrapped in luxury and splendor his entire life, should never have suffered so.
And Lyle would make sure he never did again. He would give him a life filled with happiness, no matter what it took. And for that, there was one final task left.
Lyle rose from the bed and opened the door. A group of knights, who had been waiting, straightened at his appearance.
“Enter.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
Lyle’s gaze was cold as he addressed them. “You know your orders.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
“From now until my return, not even an ant is to enter or leave this room. If anyone disobeys…”
“…”
“Your heads will be the first to roll.”
“…Understood.”
Lyle’s eyes, sharp as ice, swept over them one last time before he turned on his heel. His destination was clear.
The underground prison, where the traitorous wretch was bound.
The stale air of damp stone and decaying moss invaded Lyle’s senses as he descended the winding stone staircase. The further he went, the more the thick, clammy atmosphere clung to him.
Finally, at the base of the stairs, Lyle stood before the cell where Eden Petra, bound in iron shackles, lay unconscious.
A bitter smile twisted Lyle’s lips, though the fire in his eyes was anything but cold.
This man had dragged Yernen’s once bright life through the mud and nearly shattered it again. The one whom Lyle revered more than anything else in the world had been forced to endure unspeakable pain because of this filth.
Rage roared in his bl00d, making his fists tremble.
He wanted nothing more than to kill Eden Petra on the spot. But that would be too merciful. It wouldn’t come close to repaying the agony Yernen had suffered.
No, this man would soon wish for death.
“Austin.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
The knight’s face paled as Lyle’s harsh gaze met his. He knew that look. It was one Lyle wore only on the battlefield, before unleashing hell.