The Tyrant's Happy Ending - Chapter 6.1

After a long while, Yernen slowly opened his tightly closed eyes, revealing dark, unfocused pupils.

“Nanny.”

“Yes, yes, young master… I mean, Your Majesty.”

“I want to wash.”

“What?!”

The nanny’s voice sharply pierced Yernen’s ears.

“Why?”

Yernen looked at her with sharp eyes.

“Oh, no, it’s just that… well… you washed not long ago. Including the bath I gave you today, that would be twice in one day, Your Majesty.”

The nanny, still unaccustomed to the new title, fumbled over her words.

“So, are you saying you don’t want to help me now?”

Yernen’s eyes narrowed as he looked at her.

“It’s not that…! I just worry that it might damage your skin.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes, yes, of course.”

Watching the concerned look on her face, Yernen responded nonchalantly, “Then summon the priest.”

After saying this, Yernen turned back to the window as if it were nothing.

The faint scent of incense seemed to loosen his memories, allowing them to drift back to unwelcome places. And whenever thoughts of the past brushed against his mind, memories that remained vivid, he felt dirty, as if he’d been doused in filth. The urge to scrub himself clean became overwhelming.
This is all because of him.
He blamed that person for stirring up such memories.
Yernen thought this, but deep down, he knew the truth. No one else was to blame for the memories resurfacing. It was because he constantly thought of that island.
Though his body had long since left that place, and it was nothing but dust now, his soul remained trapped in the vast black lake at its center, unable to escape.

“Ha…”

Yernen glanced at the clock, his face showing his displeasure. No matter how much he wanted it to stop, the clock’s hands moved steadily forward, and the sun began to set.

This meant it was nearly time for Lyle to arrive, and he would have to come up with some sort of excuse—however humiliating that thought was.

An excuse… how degrading.

Frustration gnawed at him.

Lost in thought, Yernen threw the cushion he was holding across the room in a fit of irritation. Immediately, one of the attendants, who had been waiting quietly in the background, hurried over to retrieve it and returned, offering it back to Yernen with utmost politeness.

“…?”

Yernen looked at the attendant with a look of disbelief, as if questioning his intelligence, and threw the cushion even farther away.

“…!”

The attendant, visibly shocked, blinked in surprise but quickly ran after the cushion again.

Noticing Yernen’s growing agitation, the nanny approached and began gently massaging his arm. “Your Majesty, are your arms hurting? You’re barely recovered, and such vigorous movement might be too much for you.”

Observing Yernen’s volatile temper and the nanny’s attempts to soothe him, another attendant quickly prepared a warm pot of water, sugar, and milk to make the tea that the nanny had often mentioned. He remembered being told that the new emperor was prone to irritability but calmed down with sweet tea—a trait typical of the nobility from central regions.

The attendant steadied his hands as he started preparing the tea, all the while feeling Yernen’s sharp gaze on him.

Russell Bohr.

Yernen knew him to be the second son of Viscount Bohr, a devoted supporter of Lyle. Russell had undoubtedly been placed here to act as Lyle’s spy.

According to tradition, the Empress was allowed three personal attendants, excluding the head maid.

Naturally, these attendants, who were responsible for managing day-to-day details, had to be trustworthy. But Yernen had not been able to fill all three positions with loyal people.

Thus, while Noah Luar, who fetched the cushion, and Marianne Natalie, who stood quietly behind him, were free of Lyle’s influence, Russell Bohr was another matter entirely.

Watching Noah’s oblivious antics, Yernen felt a headache coming on.

The whole situation was incredibly frustrating.

Just as Russell began steeping the tea leaves, the person who had been irritating Yernen all day finally appeared.

Lyle Baltimore—the same smug, infuriating man as always.
Lyle strolled over with a smug expression, completely at ease, and sat in front of Yernen, glancing around and taking note of the tea service prepared to calm Yernen’s evident irritation.

Picking up the milk bottle, Lyle checked its temperature, shook it slightly, and added a cinnamon stick, freshly taken from a jar.

“Were you waiting for me?”

“Me? For you?”

Yernen scoffed, sounding both irritated and incredulous.

“What a joke.”

Lyle gave him a quick glance, chuckled, and continued his task. He checked the cup’s temperature with the back of his hand, poured in the warm tea, and stirred in the cinnamon-infused milk with practiced precision. Then he added a single cube of sugar and half another, stirring until it was perfectly mixed. After testing the temperature of the cup handle, he handed it to Yernen.

Each movement was perfectly controlled, without a hint of wasted effort.

Ignoring the startled stares around him, Yernen took the cup with a sour expression and began drinking. Slowly, his face relaxed.

Seeing Yernen’s tension ease, Lyle naturally moved on to slicing a piece of tea cake. His fluid movements, as if he’d served Yernen for at least ten years, surprised even the nanny, who hesitated, unsure how to react.

“Did you eat?”

Yernen’s sharp, catlike eyes held a glint of curiosity. Despite his irritation, his question was surprisingly casual.

“I did.”

“Any discomfort?”

“…Not really.”

What is he up to?

Yernen looked Lyle up and down, as if trying to gauge his intentions. Even though Lyle must have noticed Yernen’s cautious gaze, he continued to act relaxed and unbothered.

When he’d left that morning, Lyle had seemed ready to confront him. But now, his demeanor was calm, almost casual. For the rest of the tea, Lyle simply asked him about trivial details of life in the palace.

The meaningless questions continued well into the evening, even as Yernen prepared for bed.

“How long are you planning to stay here?”

Yernen glared at Lyle, who had made himself comfortable on his bed, pressing his hand to his forehead as if dealing with a growing headache.

“Why?”

“Is there no bed in the emperor’s room? Why are you lying here?”
Lyle, propped on his elbow in a loose robe that revealed part of his chest, looked back at him.

“Let’s sleep together.”

“What?”

Yernen’s eyes twitched with irritation.

“Are you kidding me?”

“I told you this morning, didn’t I? Physical closeness can lead to emotional closeness, so I plan to visit often.”

Damn.

Yernen realized then that Lyle intended to monitor him both through attendants during the day and in person at night.
If this continued, it was only a matter of time before his secrets would be exposed. The closer they stayed, the more difficult it would be to keep everything hidden. That was the last thing he wanted.

And yet…

“…”

Yernen turned away, sulking, and curled up at the edge of the bed, his back to Lyle.

If he firmly refused, Lyle would likely leave, allowing him at least the freedom of being unwatched at night. But… he didn’t want that.

Maybe it was the memories of those nightmares on the island, in that shabby cabin. Or maybe, for the first time in ages, he didn’t want to fall asleep alone.

For so long, he had yearned for Lyle’s presence by his side, like in those innocent childhood days.

But Lyle hadn’t come. Not once.

And now, when he no longer wanted to grow closer, when all expectations had dissolved into nothing, Lyle was finally lying beside him.

It was such a bitter irony.

“…Aren’t you going to sleep?”

Yernen quietly asked, “Are you going to sleep now?”

Lyle replied in a voice that showed not the slightest trace of sleepiness, “Yes, I’ll sleep.”

“Not that kind of sleep.”

“Ah.” Lyle responded in a lazy tone. “If you’re okay with it… we could finish what we started last night.”

Yernen’s gaze fell on Lyle’s golden hair as he spoke in a low voice.

“…You need this, don’t you? Today won’t be like last time… it’ll be alright.”

As soon as he finished speaking, the sound of the bedsheets rustling echoed softly. Lyle’s large hand reached over and pulled Yernen closer, shifting his view in an instant. Yet, rather than rushing toward him, Lyle simply looked down, unmoving, with his face close to Yernen’s. In the shadowed light, his blue eyes darkened.

Lyle’s hand moved slowly, covering the right side of Yernen’s face.

“…I don’t know.”

He gazed at Yernen for a long time, then finally gave a bitter smile. “I’ll leave it at that for tonight.”

Yernen had a sense of what Lyle was thinking.

‘…What a fool.’

Lord Fortnum resembled Yernen in so many ways—almost identical, except for one detail.

The mole beneath his right eye. It had been present on his old body, but it wasn’t on his current one.

Lyle continued in a casual tone, “Tomorrow, I’ll be visiting the royal cemetery, so I should show some respect, shouldn’t I?”
“Come to think of it, I didn’t ask you,” he added, “Will you join me in visiting the late emperor’s grave?”

“Why ask me? It’s not like you’re following any marriage contract we made anyway.”

“This is an exception clause. I value my life, you know.”

“Hah.”

Yernen couldn’t help but scoff. For someone who claimed to value his life, lying in Yernen’s bed was ironic. Still, Yernen nodded without further comment.