The morning sun spilled through the cracked window, casting warm beams across the floorboards of my little room. I blinked against the light and crawled up to the mirror hanging crookedly on the wall. It wasn't the grandest mirror—a simple wooden frame, a few chips here and there but it was enough to catch a glimpse of me.
I stared. My golden blonde hair tumbled messily over my shoulders, wild like wheat swaying in a summer breeze. It was Lisa's gift soft and shiny, almost too bright for a farming village. My eyes, deep and dark, stared back. The black pools were Harold's, heavy with quiet strength. A strange combination, I thought. Blonde hair from my mother, dark eyes from my father. Village people often said I was the most beautiful child around, but they had no idea what else was packed behind these eyes.
I tilted my head and smirked at the reflection. "You're quite the contradiction, little one. Innocent enough to charm, fierce enough to burn."
I reached out, touching my own cheek, still soft and baby-smooth, but my mind was anything but babyish. Twenty-nine years of memories, sass, and caffeine-fueled sarcasm lurked behind this tiny frame.
With one last look, I hopped down from the stool and headed toward the noise outside the village coming alive.
The square was bustling. Chickens darted between legs, hens clucked in frantic chorus. The scent of fresh bread and wood smoke curled through the air. Children's laughter rang out, high and clear, and I spotted them the usual gang of six-year-olds, a full two years older than me, towering over my small frame like giants.
Freya was there, her long braid swinging like a whip as she barked orders. Lia bounced on the balls of her feet, eyes sparkling with mischief. Davi flexed his arms like he was ready for battle. Tomlin wielded a stick, pretending it was a sword, and Kellen the quiet one with a knowing smile watched from the sidelines.
I stepped forward, chest puffed up with all the confidence a tiny human could muster. "Morning, peasants," I announced with a wicked grin.
Freya's eyes flicked to me, amused. "You're still the smallest. But you act like you own this place."
I raised an eyebrow. "Because I do."
Lia's voice chirped, "Let's have a tournament! The winner gets to marry the princess!"
The word princess bounced between us like a spark, but I wasn't about to play the part.
I crossed my arms and leaned in, voice sharp as a blade. "Listen here, I am not the prize. I am the one who wins the prize. Understand?"
The boys and girls froze. Freya blinked, caught off guard. Lia's mouth dropped open in disbelief. Davi's confident grin wavered. Even Kellen's amused smile faltered for a moment.
Tomlin, ever clumsy, tripped over a rock and landed face-first in the dirt, earning a roar of laughter from the others.
I gave a smug smile and said, "Even the earth knows better than to mess with me."
Later, Freya was trying to rally the group again. "Okay, let's play 'Quest for the Lost Turnip'!"
I groaned, throwing my head back dramatically. "Princess again? No thanks. I'm the Commander of the Turnip Guard, and I expect proper respect."
Lia rolled her eyes. "You're so bossy."
I held up a finger like a queen delivering a royal command. "I prefer 'leadership.' There's a big difference."
She sighed, but I caught the little smile trying to break free. "Fine, Commander. What's the mission?"
I rubbed my chin like I was deep in thought. "Find the turnip that vanished during last week's feast. No slacking."
Tomlin groaned, "Why do I always get the boring jobs?"
I shot him a sideways glance. "Because you're lucky to even be here, Sir Tomlin."
He glared, clutching a half-eaten turnip like a treasure.
We wandered toward the chapel, the sunlight warming our backs. Near the stone wall, I noticed a forgotten crate, its wood cracked and weathered.
Curiosity gnawed at me, so I pried it open. Inside were old books, dusty and forgotten pages yellowed, with pictures and strange letters. I flipped through one lazily, but it bored me. I slammed it shut with a sigh.
Kellen watched me with interest. "Don't you like books?"
I shrugged, tossing it aside. "Books are fine if you want to learn the slow way."
He frowned, confused. "How's that?"
I grinned. "By doing stupid things and figuring out which ones not to repeat."
He laughed, shaking his head. "That actually makes sense."
While the others chased each other around the village square, I spotted Harold working in the fields nearby. His shirt was off, muscles glistening with sweat as he hefted heavy barrels and patched fences with steady hands.
Whispers followed him wherever he went strong, dependable, tireless. Lisa had chosen well.
I admired him silently from a distance. There was something honest in the way he worked. No fancy words, no grand gestures. Just hard work and quiet strength.
As the sun climbed higher, we all collapsed under the old oak tree's shade, panting and laughing. Freya nudged me.
"You always win."
"Of course," I said with a proud smirk. "I'm the boss."
Freya's eyes glinted, a hint of admiration mixed with fear. "You're scary."
Kellen grinned and leaned in. "Can I be your knight?"
I poked him in the ribs. "Earn it first. Prize is a turnip."
He looked at the vegetable like it was gold and shook his head. "No deal."
That evening, back at the manor, Lisa sat beside me and braided my tangled hair with practiced hands.
"You really charmed everyone today," she said softly.
I smiled, liking the warmth in her voice.
"Tomorrow, I'll braid it even better."
Maybe I'd let her.
That night, lying on my pillow, I thought of the village walls, the kids, Harold's strength, and Lisa's gentle touch. I was still small on the outside but already commanding respect inside. The youngest in the village, yet not the least.
One thing was clear—I wasn't a prize to be won. I was the one who took the prize.