What Became of the Tyrant After the Pregnant Empress Left - Chapter 263

“…What?”

Had he heard correctly? Or had the side effects of his condition finally eroded his grip on reality, blurring hallucinations and truth?

Kazhan froze mid-motion, the council documents still in his hands. Fortunately, before he could ask something that might betray his instability, the attendant continued, sweating nervously.

“Her Majesty was escorted to the reception hall, considering Your Majesty is in session, but she insisted on an immediate audience—”

“Move.”

“Your Majesty!”

In an instant, Kazhan was on his feet, striding past the stunned nobles without a second glance. Their bewildered stares burned into his back, but his mind was too consumed to notice.

Ysaris. After nearly three years of silence, she had come to him. The disbelief barely registered over the violent hammering of his heart.

She was meticulous about separating personal and imperial matters. If she was interrupting a council session, it had to be urgent. But what did it matter? The attendant wouldn’t have left her waiting if she were injured. At worst, she needed his help—his, specifically.

The thought of seeing her again sent blood roaring through his veins. A reckless hope surged: Maybe this will change everything.

Maybe she’d forgiven him. Maybe, in exchange for his aid, she’d grant him even a sliver of her time. Maybe she’d even return to Uzephia.

Maybe, maybe— The word swelled in his chest, a tide of possibilities flooding the monochrome world he’d endured. Just her presence, just the chance to see her again, was enough to reignite color.

He was nearly at the reception hall when the shouting hit him.

“I said I need the Emperor, not a physician!”

“But Your Majesty—!”

“Out of my way! That’s an order! I may have been absent, but as long as you call me Empress—!”

The voices, sharp and strained, sliced through the soundproofed doors. Kazhan didn’t hesitate. He threw them open.

“Ysaa.”

He hadn’t forgotten her warning against using the nickname. But after years of whispering it alone, the name tore free on its own.

“Kazhan?”

He drank in the shock in her voice, studying her. Time slowed, even in the urgency.

Years had passed, yet Ysaris looked unchanged—save for a subtle maturity in her bearing. But the calm grace he remembered was gone. Now, she stood razor-edged and fragile, her eyes rimmed red. She’s been crying.

And then he saw what she cradled against her chest.

“My child— our child. Please. Save her.”

‘Our child.’

The words struck like a blade to the ribs. Kazhan’s gaze dropped to the small figure in her arms.

Three years old, perhaps. Pale, unconscious, black hair matted with blood.

Black hair. The unmistakable mark of a Tennilath. For a moment, reality wavered.

“…You had a second child.”

‘When? How?’

The answer came instantly. Their last nights together before she fled. She must have carried the child to term alone in that remote village.

The math shouldn’t have made sense, but Kazhan knew the Tennilath’s traits. He himself had reached this size by two.

While he pieced it together in seconds, Ysaris stood trembling, desperation cracking her voice.

“I’ll explain everything later. Just— please, don’t ask questions. Save Casilia. I don’t know how, but a Tennilath can. When you fell from the cliff with me, your injuries—”

“Everyone out.”