The Tyrant's Happy Ending - Chapter 9.2

The memory of that day was still vivid in his mind, as if he could reach out and touch it.

“Why is he here?” Yernene’s voice trembled.

It had been a long time, and his memories weren’t entirely clear. Besides, the man now looked thin and worn, a shadow of his once-plump self. It was possible he was mistaken.

Still, Yernene felt a strong conviction that this man was the same owner of that food stall.

Tenes gave a subtle nod to Basil, the prison guard.

“If you mean that man, I know his story as well. He’s rather well-known around here.”

“Well-known… you say?”

“He used to own a famous restaurant in the central square, but after he lost his wife and young son, he drifted into this state, clutching his family’s clothes and wandering around aimlessly.”

“Why…”

Yernene struggled to force the words out.

“Why did he lose his wife and son?”

“That’s the way of things now, isn’t it? If we commoners even slightly offend a noble, our lives are snuffed out like they mean nothing. But in his case… it wasn’t a noble, actually.”

“Then… who?”

Basil hesitated, glancing at Yernene before speaking softly.

“It was a royal.”

Though he laughed as if it was nothing, there was a bitter smile on his face, shadowed by quiet resentment.

“Ha.” Yernene laughed in disbelief, shaking his head as he questioned further.

“Was it Illian? Or Harriet?”

“Neither… I heard it was someone from the royal branches.”

“…”

“Commoners being persecuted by them—it’s no secret, is it?”

No secret? Yernene had never heard of such a thing.

In his mind, he recalled his relatives from the branch families, who had always approached him warmly and cheerfully in his youth. He couldn’t imagine any of them doing something so terrible.

But Basil’s tone was both resigned and detached, as if this kind of tragedy was an ordinary occurrence.

“Why did he stay silent?”

“Excuse me?”

“Why did he stay silent about it? Why didn’t he appeal to the royal court? If he’d told the truth, surely…”

Yernene trailed off, frowning. Would anyone have even listened? More importantly, would he have dared to appeal?

The people of this land held reverence for those with divine bl00d, and their wrongdoings were often overlooked.

“Appealing isn’t so easy. Most of us commoners live our whole lives without even seeing someone like Your Highness. It’s even harder to voice such matters.”

Basil scratched the back of his head, resigned.

“It seems your time is up, Your Highness. Someone from the palace has arrived.”

Yernene turned to look in the direction Basil was indicating. A carriage emblazoned with the royal insignia was approaching, surrounded by knights.

The crowd quickly cleared the main road to avoid being hit by the fast-moving carriage. Yernene found the scene oddly mesmerizing.

“It’s been an honor speaking with you, Your Highness.”

Basil bowed respectfully and unlocked the rusty iron gate. The carriage stopped right in front of it.

Yernene watched as the carriage door opened and a woman
gracefully stepped down. Her hair was styled with intricately crafted ornaments, and she wore a deep black mourning dress. She looked much older than he remembered.

“Yernen…”

Cecil.

It had been a long time since he’d seen his sister.

“…”

Seeing her, Yernen tried to rise, but his body, weakened by days without food, gave way. Tenes stepped forward, lifting him gently, and Yernene pulled his cloak tightly around himself, unwilling to look at her or to be seen.

The door closed, and the foul smell of the square faded, replaced by the comforting scent of the carriage interior.
As the wheels began to turn, softly rocking his body, Yernen finally felt the reality sink in—he was returning home.

“Everyone, leave.”

“But, Your Highness…”

“Didn’t you hear me? Leave.”

Yernene’s sharp, irritated gaze swept over the room. The servants looked hesitant, glancing toward Tenes and Cecil for guidance.

Their defiant stance only worsened Yernen’s already frayed nerves.

“Do you need a slap to wake you up and get out?”

His biting words made the servants go pale, and at Cecil’s nod, they quickly shuffled out of the room.

“…Yernen.”

In the now quiet room, Cecil struggled to speak, but Yernene didn’t respond, just as he used to do in his childhood fits of anger.

“…Alright. You must be exhausted. Why don’t you wash up first, and then we can talk.”

Still, Yernene didn’t look at her. Cecil, watching his turned back, reached a hand toward him but clenched it into a fist. She felt that nothing she said would get through to him now.

“I’ll see you in a bit.”

With those words, Cecil left the room.

“You, too. Out.”

Yernen fixed his steely gaze on Tenes, who was supporting him.

“…”

Tenes looked down at him, expressionless, though there was an undercurrent of concern, even stubbornness, in his calm demeanor. But Yernene didn’t back down.

After a tense moment, Tenes sighed softly.

“In that case, allow me to support you to the bath.”

“…Suit yourself.”

Finally alone, Yernen walked slowly to the center of the bath, removing his cloak. As it fell away, his ashen blonde hair, clothed upper body, and long, straight legs came into view.
And when he finally stripped off the last of his garments… the body that could be shown to no one was laid bare.

“…”

Yernen looked down at the items prepared for washing, which he assumed had been set out for him. He tried to recall old memories as he began to wash himself. The items were unfamiliar, as he’d never had to use them on his own before, but after a few clumsy mistakes, he started to get the hang of it.

Soon, his body was clean. But that didn’t mean the scars etched into his pale skin disappeared.

The mirrors surrounding him reflected every inch of his body with harsh clarity.

Yernene knew this well. Even so, he clenched his weak, trembling hands and continued to scrub his skin, over and over, until red blotches appeared on his fair skin.

Scrubbing with all his might, Yernene eventually grew dizzy and collapsed to the floor, his body covered in suds. Yet nothing had been washed away.

It was only natural. No matter how hard one scrubs, anything that’s worn and damaged beyond repair can never return to its original state.

“…”

Yernen raised his hands to cover his face, feeling a warm heat at the corners of his eyes.

“Damn it.”

Everything was a mess.

Although he had remained in the capital all his life, it had been ages since he’d been in this palace. Everything appeared as it once had, yet nothing was the same.

And the most changed among it all was Yernen himself.

Cecil, who had been waiting awkwardly, rose to meet him.

“I heard you haven’t eaten… so I had some food prepared.”

“…”

Yernen’s eyes swept over the table.

A feast had been laid out, dishes he hadn’t been able to enjoy for so long.

Golden-roasted chicken slathered in sweet sauce, fluffy white bread steaming with warmth, and tender lamb chops seasoned delicately with shrimp and asparagus.

Each dish was something Yernene had once loved, yet something he hadn’t even dared to think about for a long time.

He felt a tightness in his stomach.

But Yernene didn’t dive into the food immediately. He simply picked up a spoon with his left hand, in place of his weakened right, and cautiously took a few bites of stew. After only a few sips, he set the spoon down.

“Why don’t you eat more…?”

Cecil asked hesitantly, but Yernene didn’t answer. To him now, the food before him was only something to look at, not eat.

Back on the island, food supplies had sometimes arrived late. There were days when he had to go without food for days. And the first time food was brought after such a stretch, Yernene had devoured it without restraint, only to fall ill, with no medicine or anyone to care for him in that isolated place.

After several such incidents, Yernene learned the hard way: after prolonged starvation, one must eat soft foods, and only a little at a time.

Even the few spoonfuls of stew he’d taken now made his stomach feel as though it was tied in knots. He could sense that if he indulged further, he’d pay a heavy price.

But he didn’t want to explain this to Cecil. It was a matter of pride.

“You had something to say?”

“H-huh?”

“You said you had something to discuss.”

Yernene’s voice was icy, almost unapproachable.

His cold tone rendered Cecil speechless as she fidgeted with the tablecloth, searching for words. Watching her made Yernene feel a suffocating tightness in his chest, so he pulled at the cravat choking his neck.

“Yernen.”

With a look of sorrow in her eyes, Cecil finally gathered her courage to ask.

“The rumors… that you killed Harriet and Illian… are they… true?”

“…”

“Is it true…?”

Yernene closed his eyes slowly.