The Tyrant's Happy Ending - Chapter 18.1 Side Story Part 2

Seasons passed as they always did, shifting with an unyielding rhythm. The cool breezes that once brought relief began to thicken with the heat of the approaching summer. By early May, an unusual, stifling warmth settled over the land, carrying with it the sharp rays of a relentless sun.

A tepid breeze drifted through the open window, offering slight respite. Yernen loosened the collar of his tightly bound garment, tugging at it until a thin space allowed air to brush his skin. The cool touch against his flushed neck was a relief, though he knew shedding his outer layers entirely would bring true comfort. But he couldn’t do that—not here.

“Do you still eat those fruits often?” The question, spoken in a calm, observant tone, drew Yernen’s attention to Illiana, the priestess who watched him intently. Turning toward her, he realized his face bore an unmistakable hint of red—not the healthy flush of vitality, but a pale, fevered glow.

“Yes,” he replied, his voice steady yet tinged with exhaustion.
“Hm. You mentioned eating a whole basket daily?” Illiana looked down at the notes in her hand, her brow furrowed with concern.
“It’s not ideal, but if it helps your appetite, we can’t do much else,” she said, her eyes searching his face for a reaction. It was a conversation unlike any they’d had a week prior.

“Is it bad for the baby?” Yernen asked, the worry flickering across his features.

“No, not exactly. In fact, it can be beneficial in certain ways—if managed properly. The fruit is quite nourishing and often recommended for expectant mothers, when it can be obtained. For mothers, that is,” Illiana said, carefully watching him.

A flicker of puzzlement crossed Yernen’s eyes. It was clear Illiana was choosing her words with care.

“Are you still running a fever? Should I bring some medicine?”
Despite her cautious tone, Yernen sensed that whatever she held back, it didn’t threaten the child. So he let it go for now.

“It’s fine. It’ll pass.”

But he knew it wouldn’t. The warmth had clung to him for days now, refusing to leave. Yet, the thought of taking medicine filled him with reluctance.

“If it persists, we’ll revisit the topic. Continuous fever isn’t good for either of you,” Illiana insisted. “Apart from that, is there anything else unusual?”

“No.” Yernen’s eyes shifted away as he spoke, a subtle tell he couldn’t entirely hide. In truth, something had been gnawing at him, but putting it into words felt impossible.

Illiana noted the hesitation. She placed a thoughtful hand under her chin and leaned forward, her voice gentle but probing. “Are you sure?”

“I said no,” he snapped, a trace of irritation breaking through. Illiana sighed but let the matter rest, her expression resigned yet compassionate.

“I understand. And, here…” She reached for a small box she had kept close to her side and extended it to him.

“What is this?” Yernen’s eyes lost their warmth as they fell on the offering. Illiana’s unwavering smile didn’t falter as she responded.

“Candles, for a restful night’s sleep. I made them myself.”

Yernen didn’t reach for the gift, his gaze cool and distant. He merely stared at the box, refusing to touch it.

“Tell him to stop sending these,” he muttered. The defiance in his tone felt hollow, though. It should have been easy to speak without emotion by now, yet the words scraped painfully in his throat. Illiana’s smile turned wistful.

“I’ve tried, believe me, but he doesn’t listen.”

Illiana hailed from a prestigious southern family and had become a respected priestess after her seminary days, gaining a post at the Papal Court. After Cecil’s return to the capital, she was appointed to oversee the treatment of the ailing Duke Fortnum. This earned her enough recognition to become one of the few without ties to the Petra family to secure a prominent position.

After the purge of the Petra-affiliated clergy, Illiana stood as one of the most influential figures in the Papal Court, just beneath Pope Rudy. It was this status that allowed her to care for Yernen, one of the rare few privy to his true identity and the intricacies surrounding Cecil.

From the day she took charge of Yernen’s wellbeing, Illiana often came bearing gifts: nutritious ingredients, warm gloves and scarves, fine clothes tailored for his changing body, supportive cushions, and now, these candles.

Yernen looked at the candle nestled in the open box. Its shape was uneven, its surface marred by clumsy imperfections, and the ribbon tied around it was anything but neat. Still, he knew that once lit, the scent would be sublime. The ingredients were some of the rarest, most luxurious found in the Empire, worth their weight in gold.

There was only one person who would go to such lengths to craft such a gift for him through Illiana’s hands.

“On my way here, I saw the gardener planting flowers,” Illiana said, her voice light but tinged with an underlying message. “It’s a little late in the season, but there are flowers that bloom this time of year. Come summer, the garden will be vibrant with color.”

She paused, then continued, “But not all seeds will sprout and bloom. Some will push through the soil, tall and lush, drawing every eye. But others… may not make it.”

“…”

“That doesn’t mean they were failures. Once they’re scattered in the garden, each seed’s journey takes a different path.”

Yernen’s eyes questioned her meaning, but she pressed on.

“If everyone’s capacity for suffering is different, his was not larger than yours. Perhaps all he could do was tend to a child that never woke, lost in a dream, unable to pay attention to anything but the hope of your return. Years and years of waiting.”

A warm breeze stirred, ruffling Yernen’s hair like a gentle touch. It felt unexpectedly comforting.

“I hope you can find it in yourself to understand him, not for his sake, but for yours,” Illiana said, placing her hand lightly on Yernen’s wrist.

“Sometimes, understanding the burdens others bear can ease the weight in your own heart. Not forgiveness, but understanding.”
Yernen did not pull away from Illiana’s touch.

“May I release your pheromones?” she asked. “Good… Are you and the Emperor… intimate?”

“No.”

“I see.” Illiana’s eyes closed as she felt his pulse, searching for an answer within its erratic rhythm.

“Your pulse is still unstable. So are your pheromones. It’s a relief that your appetite has improved, but your belly hasn’t grown as much as it should for this stage. Your health has always been delicate, so even now, there’s a risk of complications. You know, don’t you? The book I gave you mentioned it—how important a husband’s pheromones are during pregnancy. At this point, it’s common to recommend frequent intimacy when these symptoms appear.”

At Yernen’s question, Illiana’s face softened, though a hint of mischief gleamed in her eyes. “There are alternatives, of course… but they’re more troublesome.”

Illiana chuckled lightly at Yernen’s stubborn scowl. “Physical intimacy contributes greatly to the baby’s brain development, so I recommend you consider it.”

Her words lingered in the room before she stood, her smile unwavering as she excused herself. The moment she left, Noah and the attendants entered, beginning to tidy up the parlor.

Straightening up, Yernen cast a glance at Noah. “I’ll be in the bedroom. No one is to disturb me.”

Noah nodded fiercely, relaying the command to the other attendants before hurrying after Yernen, who was already making his way to the bedroom.