The Tyrant's Happy Ending - Chapter 17.1 Side Story Part 1

On a dark night filled with the crisp sound of percussion and the chirping of insects, Yernen stood on the path paved with lights, holding a thin, flower-shaped candle.

Reflected in the shallow water were Yernen, dressed in a pure white ceremonial robe, and Ludy, donned in the solemn garments of the Pope.

The flickering flame held by the trembling Ludy leaped onto the wick of the candle in Yernen’s hand. Slowly, Yernen bent forward, guiding the candle to float on the water’s surface.
The scene was so serene and angelic that everyone clasped their hands together, offering their wishes to the drifting petals. A gentle spring breeze brushed against their fingertips and drifted away.

Spring, in its fullness, had arrived.

Yernen watched as the delicate flower-shaped candle floated away.

‘It’s holding up well.’

It was an improbable sight: a thin candle, its wick aflame, floating upon the water. By all logic, it should have melted quickly and sunk. Yet, this candle was crafted for the impossible, designed to float unfalteringly from the Pope’s chambers through the marble paths of the capital and into the canal.

Long before the Empire’s founding, before the first emperor rose, the land suffered a terrible drought that lasted years. The people, who had once prayed fervently to the gods, turned their backs in despair, cursing and abandoning their faith. Their cries dried up, silence shrouding the continent.

In that age of desolation, a princess would sneak out of the palace each night to the riverbank. Alone, she lit a flower-shaped candle and prayed for rain, for the river to fill again.
And then, with the arrival of spring rain, a god appeared to her. The princess bore a child after a night with the divine, and that child became the first emperor. From then on, the empire flourished, blessed by the gods. To honor the union, the first emperor inaugurated an annual spring ceremony—a tradition that has endured to this day.

This ceremony had since become one of the most significant events in the empire, marking the season when the populace began planting their crops.

Though the emperor typically presided over this event, tonight’s ceremony was opened by Yernen. Lyle followed after. No one questioned the altered order.

Peace prevailed among the guests; the great lords wore wide smiles, their thoughts only on the bountiful harvest to come.
Ludy, clad in the Pope’s robe embroidered with golden thread, raised his hand to light Lyle’s candle. The flame spread, painting the white wax a warm orange. Lyle bowed and released his candle onto the water.

As if on cue, nobles positioned along the marble paths ignited their own floral candles and set them adrift.

Soon, as these petals reached beyond the palace gates, the common folk would come out to the waterways, offering their own flowers—whether waxen or wild blooms—with their prayers for a peaceful year.

In the market streets, a festival would ensue. Under the spell of joy, people would revel in the romance of the cool spring night, embracing one another.

The palace was no different, filled with laughter, music, and light percussion. The gardens, adorned with spring blossoms and radiant orbs, seemed straight from a fairy tale.

Yernen took Lyle’s hand and stepped into the heart of the garden. Even with countless eyes upon them, Yernen moved with practiced ease, placing a hand on Lyle’s shoulder.
It was tradition for the imperial couple to open the ball with the first dance. The attention came naturally to Yernen.
Lyle’s arm circled Yernen’s waist, signaling the beginning as the sharp notes of string instruments heralded the true start of the celebration.

In the empire, it was customary for the alpha to lead. Yernen followed Lyle’s movements, settling into the dance. Smiling mischievously, Lyle pulled Yernen close, whispering with a teasing grin.

“Why are you so thin?”

A scoff escaped Yernen’s lips.

“What nonsense are you talking about?”

It was absurd. Beneath the loose layers of his ceremonial robe, his body had steadily rounded, to the point where only voluminous clothes could hide it. Yernen had recently been dressing in garments that could obscure his form.

In no sense could anyone call him thin. But Lyle still held that smile, his grip tightening around Yernen’s wrist.

“See? I’m right, aren’t I?”

“……”

Yernen’s face lost its amusement, giving way to exasperation.
“I heard from Melisa that you haven’t been eating well,” Lyle said, his voice tinged with concern.

Lyle’s eyes narrowed in contemplation. “Tree berries?” he repeated, the words settling in the quiet of the room.
Yernen, hidden in the folds of the blanket, said nothing at first. A memory, vivid and bitter, surfaced as he recalled the taste of those berries—small, red, with a sharp sweetness that cut through the salty wind on the island. It had been the only thing he craved, the only thing that settled his restless body during the long, solitary days.

“Yes,” Yernen finally admitted, his voice barely a whisper. “Red ones, with a sour, sharp taste.”

Lyle’s heart gave a pang. He thought of those tiny fruits, often overlooked and found in the wind-battered bushes along the coast. The idea of his regal, proud Yernen, once isolated and yearning for something as simple as wild tree berries, made Lyle’s throat tighten.

“I remember those,” Lyle said softly. “You really want those?”
Yernen didn’t respond immediately, but the way his body softened under Lyle’s embrace spoke volumes. The exhaustion, the hunger, the stubborn pride—all of it collapsed into a single nod buried under the weight of their silence.

Lyle sat up, determination solidifying in his gaze. He pressed a kiss to Yernen’s temple, a silent promise. “Wait here,” he said, voice strong and certain. “I’ll bring them to you.”

And with that, Lyle rose, the urgency of his task propelling him out of the room, ready to scour every corner of the empire if it meant finding the berries that haunted his beloved’s heart.

“Alright.”

At that moment, Laile’s face hardened. He finally understood why Yernen had kept silent for so long. In all the years they had known each other, Yernen had never spoken about the past.

“I don’t even know what those fruits were. They just… hung from the trees, so I ate them. There was nothing else to eat.”
Yernen began to speak, his voice slow and steady.

“Some were sour, some so bitter they’d leave you with cramps. But a few of them… were sweet.”

The island had no orchards or familiar fruit trees, just nameless trees that bore small, obscure fruits. But every summer and autumn, those fruits would ripen enough to fill an aching stomach.

It couldn’t compare to the delicacies served in the prince’s palace, not even in jest. Still, Yernen liked those fruits. Maybe because their fleeting availability made them seem even more precious.

The fruits mostly ripened in summer and autumn. Winter saw none, and spring was only slightly better—still scarce, with sour, unripened ones. Yet, amidst those, there was one tree that bore truly sweet fruit.

This fruit… it was sweeter and more luscious than anything from summer or autumn. Perhaps it was because a long, barren winter heightened the taste, making that first bite feel like pure indulgence.

Small, bright red berries, tangy and sweet.

He craved those berries, desperately so.

For days, it was all he could think about. No other food, no matter how rare or decadent, could match that longing. Even water tasted dull.

The desire gnawed at him, growing stronger by the day until it consumed his waking and sleeping thoughts. A week passed like this, and he felt on the brink of madness. He had never thought of himself as greedy or indulgent. Where was this wild craving coming from?