Never Date a Girl Who Writes Novels
Let's get one thing straight right off the bat—never date a girl who writes novels.
Unless you want to end up like me, dead and then possessed into one of her hardcore, soul-crushing romance fantasies.
...We broke up on pretty good terms, or so I thought. Why'd it have to be this story?
The initial confusion after possession didn't last long. Piecing together info from people around me—from my early childhood up to now at age twenty—I realized I'd been dropped into my ex's debut work.
The title? I Became a Plaything of the Imperial Family.
It's about a princess from a defeated minor kingdom taken as a hostage by the Empire, turned into a shared sex toy for the emperor and his princes, ravaged day in and day out.
I remember it clearly because when she asked for my thoughts, I joked that with four guys sharing her, it was like a Netflix family plan—and got smacked upside the head for it.
...Well, among her stuff, this was at least the tamest one.
I resented my ex for a while, but then I recalled her full catalog and realized she must've really loved me. If she'd hated my guts, she'd have shoved me into one of her countless BL stories instead.
Worst case, I'd be under a furry werewolf howling away, or the urinal under some chaebol chairman's desk. So yeah, this feels like the best-case scenario.
"Young Master Ian, your meal is ready. May I come in?"
"Yeah, Claire. Come on in."
Snapping me out of my reverie was Claire, our family maid who'd served me since I was little. A real lifesaver.
"Whoa, looks delicious. Sea bass?"
"Yes, young master—your favorite, lemon-sauced sea bass steak. For dessert, custard pudding and fresh fruit."
"Thanks, Claire. I feel bad making you bring it all the way to my room every time."
"Not at all, young master. You like eating here. Just call me when you're done."
"I'll bring the dishes down myself—got some thinking to do. Thanks. Oh, when's Mom coming back?"
"Probably not tonight. Her Majesty the Queen is attending the Goddess Festival, so likely tomorrow evening or late night."
"...Another ball? Weren't they just whining about the royal coffers being empty?"
"Exactly. Word is they've hiked direct territory taxes again. Makes me so grateful to be under Baron Harper, who looks after his people. Not that I farm or anything. I'll leave you to it—enjoy your meal, young master!"
I gave a casual wave to the departing maid and shoved those old memories back into a corner of my mind.
Eh, all things considered, this second life ain't half bad.
I was born into the Sterling Kingdom, the very setting of the original novel—a small coastal nation about to be invaded by the Empire. Tucked in the southwest of the continent, it boasts a population of roughly three million. (Feel free to nitpick my ex's number sense anytime. Medieval-meets-early-modern era, and three million counts as "small"? Always cracks me up.)
My home, the Harper family, holds a barony by the sea. Half the tenants fish, half farm—nothing special. And as the second son, I won't even inherit it.
Seeing my poor brother, who lost Dad early and now runs the place nonstop in his stead, tugs at my heartstrings... and sparks a twinge of envy. But no jealousy here.
That's our family in a nutshell. One quirky detail: Mom's super tight with the Queen, so she's constantly summoned to the royal palace.
Apparently, back in academy days, there was this bullied baron's daughter. Instead of joining in, Mom befriended her. The girl grew up stunningly beautiful, snagged the third prince's heart, married him—and then the first and second princes died suddenly, making him king and her queen. She never forgot her friend from those days, and they stay close.
Our territory's a day's carriage ride from the capital—not too far—so Mom heads up every ten days or so for girl time with the Queen.
"Huh, speak of the devil."
No sooner said than the magic crystal buzzed to life.
I'd despaired at first over no smartphones in this world, but then I learned about magic crystals—fancy. Not too pricey, so nobles and well-off commoners all have them. Round screen aside, they're basically smartphones.
"Yes, Mother?"
[Mother]: "Yeah, my boy. You holding up? Eating properly?"
"Yep. Safe arrival at the palace?"
[Mother]: "Yep. Ball's about to start, but you popped into my head. How's your brother?"
"He headed out for territory inspection earlier. I'm just lounging at home with a book."
[Mother]: "Get out, ride some horses, go hunting. You've been cooped up too much lately."
"Haha, sure—if the mood strikes, I'll take a quick ride."
[Mother]: "Good—oh! Your Majesty!"
A rustle came through the crystal, followed by a familiar voice.
[Queen]: "Ian! Doing well?"
"Ian Harper, second son of House Harper, greets Your Majesty. I hope you've been well?"
[Queen]: "Oh, come on—we've known each other for years. Michelle's son is like my own, right?"
"I'm always grateful for your warmth, Your Majesty."
[Queen]: "Let's keep getting along forever. Oh, my son and daughter keep asking when you'll visit. Next time, come with Michelle—I'll whip up tons of treats."
"Yes, ma'am—next time for sure."
[Queen]: "Good, good. I'm off to hang with your mom now. Here's the crystal, Michelle!"
Mom picked up again, her voice sounding a tad weary.
[Mother]: "...No joke—you have to come next time. The Queen, the prince, the princess—they all asked about you. It's been a while, hasn't it?"
"Yeah, I'll tag along next time."
[Mother]: "Sorry for the nagging. Mom's gotta go."
"Okay."
The call ended. I rubbed my face dry and flopped onto the bed.
"...Sigh."
As you heard, I'm pretty close with the Queen's kids.
Since I was three? We've grown up seeing each other constantly. Up to age eight, I practically lived at the palace, like siblings. Even attended the academy together until the year before last. Hell, I could probably call the Queen "Mom" one day and she'd roll with it.
"Whoa, you're handsome! What's your name?"
"Ian, second son of Baron Harper. Pleased to meet you, Your Highness."
"I'm Joseph! Let's be friends!"
Becoming pals with the two-years-older prince was easy. I was a twenty-five-year-old college student in a kid's body—playing along was nothing.
War games? Loyal subordinate. Sword fights? I'd start strong, then "grow" mid-battle and lose by a hair to the prince. Fun times for him, no doubt. We stayed tight even as we matured.
"Oppa Ian, hi!"
"Princess. What shall we study today?"
"This part of the classic novel confuses me—can you explain?"
With the princess, I'd craft killer pretend-play scenarios from my grandma's morning soaps, act them out with gusto—she loved it. In academy, I volunteered as her tutor.
Of course, the year before last, I noticed her gaze shifting beyond friendship, so I kept some distance.
Marrying a princess as a baron's spare? Logistically impossible. Plus, no thanks to tangling with someone from the "Netflix family edition" timeline. She's sweet, but every glance reminds me of her horrific abuse in the original novel. Heartbreaking.
...And soon war breaks out. Our kingdom surrenders without a real fight. She gets dragged off... Better not get too close. It'll hurt when she goes.
That was my mindset back then.
"Ian Harper, as your king, I beg you earnestly. For the royal family's sake, won't you pretend to be a prince and go as our hostage?"
"...Pardon?"
The moment those words left the King's mouth, all my efforts went up in smoke.