The Tyrant's Happy Ending - Chapter 17.2 Side Story Part 1
And the frustration—it infuriated him that one single fruit could rule his emotions, push him to tears, and cloud his mind.
“I understand.”
Laile reached for Yernen and wrapped him in a gentle embrace.
“I’ll bring it to you.”
“…”
Maybe he should have said no, told him it was too dangerous to go back to that island. But the words wouldn’t come.
Laile, reading the silent plea hidden in Yernen’s eyes, whispered gently.
“I won’t be long.”
With that, he placed a soft kiss on the edge of the blanket and stepped out of the room. Outside, guards stood watch with stoic expressions, eyes sharp as steel.
Two men were stationed at the door. One was Russell, who had recently transitioned from Yernen’s attendant to his bodyguard. The other was Tenes Trizia.
Laile’s gaze landed on Tenes, ice in his stare.
Not his preferred company, but in this situation, there was no other choice.
Wandering the island alone in search of a fruit was foolish.
Time was of the essence. He needed to return with that fruit, now.
He needed someone who knew the island’s layout, but he wouldn’t risk letting anyone unfamiliar with Yernen’s past set foot there. Loose tongues could start whispers.
So, that left him with only one option—Tenes Trizia.
“Russell.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
“Fetch Melisa and the attendants. Ensure they take care of Yernen. Wait ten minutes before you enter.”
“Yes, sir.”
With a brief nod, Russell hurried off to carry out the order.
Tenes watched Russell’s retreating figure for a moment, then turned to Laile, a curious look in his eyes as if to ask why Laile was leaving Yernen’s side.
Laile, his expression unreadable, spoke in a low voice.
“You’re coming with me. We have somewhere to go.”
“Where, Your Majesty?”
“Yernen… wants those fruits. From the island by the northern lake.”
Tenes’ face darkened for a moment before he nodded slowly.
“Understood. I will accompany you.”
A vast moon rose over a sky devoid of clouds, casting silver light on the dark water of the lake. Each stroke of the oars sent ripples across the surface, the moonlight shattering and reforming in their wake. After what felt like an eternity, they reached the small island at the lake’s center.
The boat scraped against the wooden dock, the old planks groaning under their weight as they stepped out. Neither spoke as they made their way down the weathered path.
Only a single lantern lit their way, but it was enough. The moon was bright, painting their surroundings in stark, silvery detail.
“Nothing here…”
Laile’s voice, low and heavy, was the only sound as he glanced around. It wasn’t surprising. The island held nothing but the remnants of a crumbling dock, stretches of sand, thick forest, and one forgotten wooden hut.
He spoke again, voice taut.
“Have you returned here since that day?”
“No, Your Majesty.”
“Was there any order to clear it out?”
“No. None, Your Majesty.”
“Then… it remains untouched.”
“I believe so.”
Laile had never cared for the island. Neither, it seemed, had his subordinates. This hut, then, would likely be as Yernen had left it all those years ago.
A sudden wave of unease washed over him.
Laile’s fingers tightened around the rusted doorknob, pushing the old door open. The wood groaned, resisting, but it gave way.
“…”
It was not difficult to make out the interior. Moonlight spilled through the large window, illuminating the room.
Laile raised the lantern, its warm glow adding detail to the dimness. Dust covered everything, painting a picture of time halted.
“…Ha.”
Six years had passed since Yernen had left the island. The inside of the hut was blanketed in dust, life long gone. Yet, that meant everything else remained, captured in the past.
Laile forced himself to speak, voice strained as he turned to Tenes.
“Is this how it was?”
Tenes swept his gaze across the room, eyes settling on an old dagger on the floor before he answered.
“It seems so, Your Majesty. It appears even Harriet’s men did not consider clearing it.”
“…I see.”
As Laile stepped further into the hut, his eyes roamed over every detail. Yet, there was little to see; the space was almost barren.
The room held only a solitary table and chair, a rusting iron bed frame with a thin, disheveled mattress, and an old fireplace. Laile moved to the bed and lifted the tattered blanket. It was worn, with patches where the fabric had split and tufts of cotton poked through. Stains, dark and ominous, marred its surface—bl00d, he presumed.
Beside it, torn clothes and metal tools smudged with black stains were strewn haphazardly, coated in a layer of dust that deepened the oppressive atmosphere.
As he took in the sight, a hot ache burned in Laile’s throat.
It was unimaginable that Yernen had lived here, endured years in such bleak conditions.
“…”
Unbelievable.
Part of him had wished that Tenes would refute this scene, that he would say it hadn’t always been this way. That workers had stripped the place of any valuables or essential items during a cleanup, leaving only these remnants. He had imagined Yernen’s confinement to be marked by at least a trace of dignity befitting a fallen noble.
But reality was more brutal than any scenario Laile had pictured.
“Your Majesty.”
Laile, still processing the scene, looked up at Tenes’s voice.
“Yes?”
“Would you mind stepping aside for a moment?”
Laile stepped back, and Tenes approached the bed, lifting the thin mattress. Something glinted beneath the rusted frame—a piece out of place amidst the worn and decaying surroundings. It was a pendant, regal and unmistakably familiar.
Laile recognized it instantly.
“…”
It was identical to the one he now wore around his neck.
“Yernen mentioned leaving the pendant here, Your Majesty. But he never wished to return, so it was never retrieved,” Tenes explained, placing the cold, weighty pendant in Laile’s palm.
Laile stared at the pendant, worn smooth from frequent handling. It spoke of a younger Yernen, imprisoned and alone, who had clung to this small token, opening it over and over in search of solace.
With a sigh, Laile closed his fingers tightly around the pendant. He glanced around the hut one last time before stepping outside. The most urgent task now was to bring the precious red fruit back to Yernen. Everything else could wait.
“My goodness, Your Majesty! The Emperor is here!” Melisa’s voice chimed with surprise as soon as the door opened. But Laile’s eyes went straight to Yernen, who sat by the bed, watching the door as if he’d been rooted there, waiting.
The window framed the faint light of dawn, casting a soft glow that reminded all that the world still slept. Yet, Yernen remained awake, unmoving.
His hair, a deep ash-blond with stray curls despite being neatly arranged, framed a pale, small face. He was thin, paler than ever, though his skin was clear and unblemished. His nightclothes, made from the finest, softest fabric, embraced his slender frame. His hands, delicate and white, were free of scars or callouses.
This was a body that bore no resemblance to his former life. Yet, looking into Yernen’s eyes was still hard for Laile.