I Accidentally Became The Evil Princess Of This Empire

Targaryen...

Harusheen was in disbelief when he woke up one day and found himself in a completely different world.

His gaze fell on the ornate mirror across the room. He slowly stood and walked toward it, staring at his own reflection. His clothes—rich, embroidered fabrics—were nothing like what he owned.

His chest tightened. Where the hell was he?

When he first woke up, he thought it was a dream. But then, the servants entered his room and informed him that the king wanted to see him.

What the fuck? A king? A palace?

This had to be a hallucination.

Did he take too many pills that day?

Desperate to wake up, he clenched his fist and punched himself in the face.

Pain shot through his jaw.

It was real.

Harusheen exhaled sharply, forcing himself to stay calm.

If only he had his pills with him now, he would feel calmer.

Yes, he was taking them in secret, without his parents' knowledge. They weren't just any pills—they made his body stronger, more flexible, and dulled his fear in battle. With them, he could fight without hesitation, without weakness.

After taking a deep breath, he followed the servants outside his room, his mind still racing.

They led him through a vast and breathtaking garden. Flowers of every color bloomed under the golden sunlight, and in the center stood a magnificent fountain. By the fountain, seated on an intricately carved stone bench, was a man dressed in extravagant royal attire.

The king.

Everyone around him bowed, including the servants. Swallowing his nerves, Harusheen hesitated before lowering his head as well.

The king's gaze locked onto him, sharp and piercing. Then, without warning, he gritted his teeth and unsheathed his sword.

The sudden movement sent a jolt of fear through Harusheen.

"W-Wait! What are you doing?!" he stammered, instinctively stepping back.

The king leveled his blade at him. "Who are you?"

Harusheen's mind reeled. I'm the one who should be asking that question! His frustration boiled over.

"I'm the one who should be asking you that! Who are you, and where the fuck am I?" he shot back.

A flicker of disbelief crossed the king's face. "You arrived here without even knowing the name of this kingdom? Are you a fool?"

Harusheen bristled. "Fool? Did you just call me a fool?"

"How dare you speak so rudely to His Majesty!" one of the knights snapped, drawing his sword and pointing it at Harusheen's throat.

Harusheen gulped.

Shit! If only he had his katana!

Memories of his childhood flashed through his mind. He had always been fascinated by samurai movies, captivated by the grace and power of their swordsmanship. When he turned nine, his uncle Mikhail introduced him to a Japanese sword master. From then on, he trained rigorously, mastering the art of the katana.

But here, in this strange world, he was defenseless.

And right now, with a blade inches from his throat, he realized—he was in serious trouble, with no backup from his brothers.

The king noticed Harusheen gritting his teeth, frustration evident on his face.

According to the soldiers, one of them had found Harusheen unconscious near the shore. Because of his striking pink hair, they had suspected he might be an enemy from another country and brought him before the king. However, when the king saw his face, something about him felt oddly familiar. He reminded him of someone—his parents. He bore a strong resemblance to his father, except for the pink hair, which was obviously dyed.

The king narrowed his eyes. "Who are you, and what are you doing in my kingdom?" he asked again.

Harusheen clicked his tongue in irritation. "Tsk. I'm Harusheen Tychingco. And as for why I'm here? I have no idea. I just woke up and found myself in this place. Aren't you the one who brought me here? Can't you just send me home?"

The king studied him. "And where exactly is your home?"

"The Philippines, in J City. My father is a famous model, and we own an entertainment company," Harusheen explained.

The king frowned. "I've never heard of such a place. Are you telling the truth?"

"Of course I am!" Harusheen snapped, growing more frustrated.

The king remained silent for a moment, deep in thought. There was something he needed to confirm. "Who are your parents?"

Harusheen sighed in exasperation. "And now you're asking about them?"

"Answer me," the king demanded, his tone cold.

"Fine!" Harusheen crossed his arms. "My father is Haru Tychingco, and my mother is Kaye Fuentebella. Not that you'd know them. Happy now?"

The king's expression didn't change, but internally, he was conflicted. He didn't recognize those names. He must have been mistaken. It wasn't them.

Letting out a quiet sigh, the king leaned back in his seat. "I don't know if you're an enemy or not, so I will not trust you."

Harusheen scoffed. "Likewise. I don't need to trust you either. Just tell me how to get out of here, and we're even."

The king waved a hand dismissively. "If you want to leave, then leave. I won't waste my time on you." He picked up his cup and took a sip of tea, clearly done with the conversation.

Harusheen clenched his fists, irritated beyond words. Is this how a king treats someone he dragged into his palace?

"Tsk." Without another word, he turned and stormed away.

.

.

As he walked, Harusheen muttered under his breath.

"Fuck that king. First, he kidnaps me, then he sets me free without even helping me get home." Frustrated, he kicked a small rock across the road.

Looking around, he noticed how busy the streets were—merchants selling their goods, customers haggling, people eating, chatting, and going about their daily lives. He sighed. "Just where the hell am I?"

He continued walking until he reached the port. Ships rocked gently against the docks, the salty breeze brushing against his face. If only he had money.

"FUCKKKK!!!" He ran his fingers through his hair in frustration. His gaze drifted to the sea, his mind wandering. I wonder where they are… He thought of his brothers.

Suddenly, a scream pierced the air.

"HELP!!!" a woman cried.

"Thieves!" The crowd shouted in alarm.

Harusheen turned his head just in time to see a group of thieves dashing away, the woman's bag of money in their hands. He was about to ignore it—other people's problems weren't his concern. He had enough of his own. But then his eyes landed on the woman's daughter, who was sobbing.

"Please help us!" the little girl pleaded.

No one in the crowd moved—too afraid to confront the thieves, who were armed.

Harusheen exhaled sharply. "Tsk." Without hesitation, he grabbed a sword from a nearby weapons stall and sprinted after them.

The thieves barely had time to react before Harusheen was upon them. In one swift motion, he cut them down, his blade slicing through flesh. They collapsed, dead on the spot. Blood splattered across the ground, staining his clothes, his hands, his face.

He stared at his bloodied hands, his grip on the sword tightening for a moment before he let it drop with a clatter. Stepping over the bodies, he picked up the stolen bag and walked back to the woman.

She was trembling, clutching her daughter tightly, eyes wide with fear. When he extended the bag toward her, she hesitated before snatching it away. Without so much as a word of thanks, she turned and ran, dragging her daughter with her.

Harusheen scoffed. "Hah. Leaving without even a thank you? How ungrateful."

He glanced around. The entire marketplace had gone silent. The people all stared at him, fear evident in their eyes.

Damn it… Is this their first time seeing someone kill?

Before he could say anything, a loud voice interrupted.

"Don't move!"

Harusheen turned to see a group of knights approaching, weapons drawn.

He sighed, raising his hands in surrender. "Tsk. I was just helping. It's not like I killed them on purpose."

"You need to come with us," one of the knights said firmly.

Harusheen clenched his jaw. Damn it… Now I have to face that king again.