The Tyrant's Happy Ending - Chapter 16.5

“No! Aagh!”

Eden screamed, thrashing as he tried to pull his mutilated hand free. But once more, Lyle’s foot was quicker, pressing the blade down.

Again, the chamber filled with a scream, seething with despair.

Lyle took a deep breath, forcing the sharp scent of bl00d and charred flesh out of his lungs with the fresh bite of dawn’s air.

The twilight of morning had receded entirely, casting the world in shades of cold blue. As Lyle’s unfeeling gaze fell upon the palace veiled in this hue, a dark emotion stirred within him.
What a damned shame.

He could torture Eden Petra until his voice gave out, yet it would not erase the years of torment Yernen had endured. That knowledge alone set his bl00d boiling.

If he could turn back time and rewrite history, if he could extract every shred of horror from Yernen’s memory, he would. But he couldn’t, and it drove him mad.

With no way to reverse time or mend memories, Lyle resolved to exact the most merciless vengeance he could.

“Find out everything there is about the Kingdom of Peinan,” he ordered.

Austern, standing at his side, nodded solemnly.

From Eden’s tortured lips, Lyle had learned much. The man, for all his cunning, had spent his life scheming from a desk in the capital. He had never seen the true horror of war, never glimpsed humanity’s abyss.

Darkness devours all in the face of deeper shadows.

Tongue loosened by relentless torment, Eden had sung like a broken bird. Whether out of belief in Lyle’s promise of death as a mercy or a simple surrender to agony, he had answered every question. And with those pieces, Lyle assembled the perfect mosaic of truth.

The catalyst for it all was Eden’s failure to possess Yernen. His desire had conspired with kingdoms to claim him.

They were damned.

Lyle vowed to annihilate the kingdom that dared use Yernen’s life as a bargaining chip. The kingdom that lent Eden Petra the power to place Yernen in hellish peril would burn.

He would consume the West, take the head of Peinan’s scheming king, and ensure that all who brought Yernen suffering paid with their lives.

For once in this lifetime, he would safeguard Yernen from every last threat. Ensure that he reveled in all the happiness he deserved.

“……”

Yet, no matter how resolute he was, he wouldn’t let Yernen see him this way. To Yernen, he would always present himself as docile as a loyal pet, never baring the fangs that others knew so well.

Lyle lifted his coat collar, catching the stale scent clinging to it. In mere hours, the reek of the dungeon had soaked through.

He spoke to the servant who had approached silently.

“Prepare a bath.”

EPILOGUE

Waking felt like surfacing from a nightmare.

But it hadn’t been one of those nightmares. There had been no hands grasping at him, no weight of terror like usual.
He’d just been running, endlessly, through a winter’s night that knew no dawn.

Yet, unlike other bad dreams, this one ended on an unexpected note of warmth, a familiar scent mingled with the clean, crisp fragrance of body wash, and an embrace so solid it anchored him.
Yernen’s eyes fluttered open, and the first thing they landed on was someone’s chest, peeking out from a slightly disheveled robe.

“……”

More bewildering was the realization that he was wrapped in the arms of the man in question.

Yernen tilted his head up, incredulity etched on his features, and was met with Lyle’s playful grin.

Of course. This was Lyle’s doing. There was no way he’d willingly press himself into the man’s embrace.

He attempted to push Lyle away, but Lyle merely tightened his hold, pulling him closer.

“Mmph…!”

Pressed against the hard expanse of Lyle’s chest, Yernen gasped for breath, his fists thudding against Lyle’s back.

It was only after he had weathered a dozen of Yernen’s strikes that Lyle finally loosened his grip, resting his forehead on Yernen’s shoulder as he mumbled.

“Yernen, do you know how long I waited for you to wake up?”

“Hah!”

Feigning weakness, are we?

Yernen scoffed.

“Always the charmer.”

But even as he said it, he stopped resisting. Eyes closing, he allowed himself a moment of stillness, taking in the heady scent that was distinctly Lyle.

There was something about the scent that seemed to melt away the lingering discomfort left behind by the nightmare.

When Yernen descended into the hall, his first impression was simple:
They went to great lengths.

But anyone who set foot into the hall would come to the same conclusion. A colossal table stretched from one end of the room to the other, covered with a dazzling array of dishes.

There were so many options that even tasting each one would leave someone full before they finished. It was clear that preparations hadn’t started at dawn but likely the previous night when Yernen had arrived.

Yernen glanced at the hopeful faces around him—the head chef, the nursemaid, and all others in attendance who cast subtle glances his way, waiting for a word of praise.

“Haa…”

He let out a quiet sigh.

Though he’d sensed it vaguely since the night before, there was a shared sense among them that they bore responsibility for Yernen leaving the palace. A misguided notion, entirely.

Too exhausted to discuss it with the nursemaid last night, Yernen resolved to speak with her after breakfast. He couldn’t possibly endure such elaborate meals every morning.

As Lyle escorted him to the table and he settled in front of the feast, Yernen realized just how hungry he was. The moment he sat, he grabbed the spicy, steaming tomato soup in front of him and drank it in hurried gulps. Without pausing, he reached for a freshly baked loaf, tearing into it without bothering to slice it.

It was then, as the food before him began to disappear with remarkable speed, that the scrape of a chair being pulled out caught his attention. Lyle had moved to his side.

“…?”

Yernen shot him a look, puzzled by the sudden proximity. Lyle, unfazed by the glance, took on an expression of playful mischief as he speared a small piece of steak with a fork and held it up to Yernen’s mouth.

“What are you doing?”

Yernen looked at the fork as though it were an absurd sight, but Lyle only grinned.

“I fed you before, didn’t I, before we came back to the palace?”
The audacity.

This madman…

How could he say such a thing out loud with so many onlookers? It seemed the time apart had turned him into an utterly shameless beast.

“What do you expect me to do? Follow protocol.”

Of course, having Lyle feed him wasn’t… entirely unpleasant. It meant not having to cut the meat, peel seafood, or even lift a fork—just open his mouth and eat.

Lyle had an uncanny knack for knowing exactly what Yernen liked and cutting it into the perfect bite-sized pieces. There were times when Yernen wondered, fleetingly, if he could spend his life like this, pampered to the point of indulgence.

But that was out in the field. Here, in the palace, following decorum was a given. Lyle, who’d been taught as much when he was younger, now acted as if he’d forgotten every lesson.

“I told you, Yernen. When we returned to the palace, I wouldn’t let you lift a finger.”

“…”

Yernen looked at Lyle as though he truly were deranged.
He had said those words, true enough. And since last night, Yernen hadn’t had to move a muscle. Lyle had even tried to carry him everywhere, dissatisfied whenever Yernen chose to walk on his own. But… he hadn’t expected it to go this far.