How the Villainous Consort Avoids His Death Ending

Pale light-blue eyes, bearing a faint smile, shone softly. The golden hair flowing over his shoulders and his fair skin reflecting the sunlight were so brilliant that they were dazzling. Whenever he lowered his head with flushed cheeks, his long, straight nape would reveal itself before Tristan’s eyes. Thick eyelashes fluttered like the transparent wings of a butterfly.

Ruellin.

Tristan’s subconscious called out to him.

Like vibrations spreading across a soundless sea, the name formed by his lips blew over like a breeze and reached his ears.

Since when has it been? It was a face he had not forgotten for a single moment, a name he had never erased. An affectionate longing and a vague pain rippled continuously through his heart. His heavy eyelids twitched for a moment.

Escaping from this deep darkness, Tristan had to return to him.

“……Ruellin.”

And so, Tristan opened his eyes.

He barely managed to exhale a ragged breath. Cold sweat poured down his forehead like rain. A pain like a burn traveled down his spine and spread throughout his entire body. The forgotten agony revived in an instant and rushed over him all at once.

Just like that, his heart began to beat slowly.

“Huu… Huu…”

Suppressing the pain that felt as though it were squeezing his chest, he stared at the ceiling. The damp air of the unfamiliar space brushed past the tip of his nose. He sensed someone abruptly pushing themselves up from the bedside. Beyond the shabby wooden door, a shout calling out to him could be heard.

“Your Excellency, have you regained consciousness? Your Excellency……!”

A faint light revived within his blue eyes that resembled the ocean. He paid no heed to the supporting touch, nor to the voice seeking him. There was only one thing he could think of.

Ruellin is waiting. Clinging to a thread of hope, he was waiting for him without abandoning a single shred of expectation. He had to face those water-colored eyes again. He wanted to hold that warm hand.

Tristan raised his body.

❖ ❖ ❖

“Why… why do you only come now.”

The tearful voice shook terribly. Tristan blankly looked down at Ruellin, who was barely holding his ground before him as if he were about to collapse.

For several weeks, he had been hidden in a secluded inn while unconscious. Fearing that he might be discovered by Everett, the knights said they could not even send word to Hezekia. When he finally woke up and heard the circumstances, he stood right up and headed for Hezekia. Spurring his way forward each time he thought of how anxiously Ruellin must have been burning with worry.

Thus, he finally faced him.

The clear face looking up at Tristan shone dazzlingly as it caught fragments of sunlight. The moment his gaze locked with his, he realized it with absolute clarity.

He could not live for even a single moment away from Ruellin.

Since when has it been?

Tristan quietly watched him and looked back once more. The young consort who had come to Hezekia as if being dumped onto him had been nothing but chilly and cold for over two years. The act of opening his eyes toward him had begun very slowly. At some point, it swelled up as if about to burst, and after he fully realized it, it became excessively heavy.

The times they spent together were brushing past his cheeks. The memories of their daily life accumulated over a long time overflowed along the wind. It was a sweet time that, whenever he hid it deep within his heart and peeked at it from time to time, left him anxious that it might wear away and vanish.

The love that approached so readily like that was painful yet beautiful.

Words he had kept in his heart for a long time suddenly slipped past Tristan’s lips.

“It does not matter whether you are Everett’s spy or the demon of Walpurgis as the ignorant people babble about.”

Such things were not important. The one he loved and adored was Ruellin. That was enough.

Ruellin’s pale light-blue eyes shook widely.

“Did you say a spy and a demon……?”

“……”

It appeared he had spoken the words meant to be kept inside his mind and the thoughts meant to be spoken out loud in reverse. Ruellin was mostly gentle and sweet, but occasionally, veins would pop up on his forehead. A sense of crisis, as if the spirited anger visible at those times would erupt at any moment, was felt.

Tristan hurriedly pulled him into an embrace. A soft, warm body touched his chest. The refreshing scent of lemon and lavender spread throughout his breath. He missed everything about him. Even though barely a brief period of time had passed.

“I am sorry I am late, Ruellin.”