Married to the Cold King

Chapter Four: The Village Girl

Elara Whitmore POV

—

The taxi ride out of the city felt like leaving a whole life behind. I clutched my suitcase on my lap, trying to steady it, but of course, I didn’t — the strap slipped, and the handle hit my shin. I yelped and swatted at it, making the driver glance back in mild surprise.

“I’m fine,” I muttered quickly, wincing as I rubbed my leg. He gave me a small nod, probably thinking I was one of those dramatic city girls who always pretends something is worse than it is. Little did he know — I actually was clumsy.

By the time the taxi turned off the paved streets into the winding dirt roads, I could smell the village before I saw it. Earth, grass, smoke from cooking fires, and something sweet, like ripe fruit hanging in the sun. I leaned my forehead against the glass, taking a deep breath.

This wasn’t home yet, but maybe… it could feel like home.

—

Back in the city, my father had barely looked at me when I said goodbye. I could almost see his shoulders slump as he stepped back into his office, Margaret’s cool presence at his side.

He doesn’t know how to fight for me, I thought. He only knows how to follow.

But as the car bumped along the road, I realized I didn’t have to rely on him. I had to stand on my own. And maybe… I could even laugh along the way.

—

Grandmother Evelyn’s house appeared like a painting at the end of a narrow path. A small white cottage with flower boxes spilling over with marigolds and sunflowers. Smoke curled lazily from the chimney, and a few chickens strutted across the yard, pecking at the dirt.

I hopped out of the taxi, my suitcase heavier than I expected, and immediately tripped over a small stone. My suitcase tumbled, spilling a few clothes onto the ground.

“Not again,” I muttered, scrambling to gather them.

Then a warm voice called from the porch:

“Elara! My goodness, child, is that you?”

I looked up to see her. Grandmother Evelyn, smaller than I remembered, but with eyes that glimmered with a mix of mischief and warmth. She rushed down the steps, arms open. I ran forward, slipped on the loose dirt and landed right in her arms.

She laughed, a rich, hearty sound. “Still falling for the world, aren’t you?”

“I… I’m okay!” I said, cheeks burning, as I scrambled to stand properly. “Just… hello.”

She shook her head, still laughing. “You haven’t changed a bit. Come, let me look at you.”

Her hands smoothed down my hair, brushing away dust. “You’ve grown tall, but your heart… your heart still beats too fast for your body to keep up.”

I smiled faintly. “I’ve been… learning.”

Her eyes twinkled. “Learning, yes. But now you’ll learn properly.”

—

The first day was a mess, of course. I tripped over the garden hose while carrying a basket of firewood. A chicken screeched and flapped past my face. Somehow, the basket tipped, and a log rolled across the yard.

Grandmother Evelyn shook her head, laughing. “Oh, child, the city didn’t teach you to mind your step, did it?”

“I… I’m trying!” I said, laughing nervously, brushing the dirt from my skirt.

She just smiled, grabbing another log. “Try again. You’ll get it. Don’t be afraid of falling.”

I liked that. Not afraid of falling. Something inside me stirred the spark my mother always encouraged.

—

By mid-afternoon, I was exploring the village. Small houses lined the dirt path, each with flowers and colorful shutters. Children ran past, laughing and shouting in a language that was the same but different from what I remembered in Boston.

I was admiring a small stream when I noticed a group of older boys teasing someone. A small boy, maybe six or seven, backed away nervously as a few dogs barked and snapped at him. He tripped on the bank, and the dogs lunged.

Without thinking, I dropped my basket and ran.

“Hey!” I shouted, waving my arms. “Shoo! Go away!”

The dogs paused, startled by the flailing human and loud voice. One of the boys tripped over his own feet trying to run closer. I reached down, grabbed the smaller boy’s hand, and pulled him out of the way. A dog barked at me, and of course, I lost my balance and ended up sitting in the mud.

The boy laughed nervously. “Thanks… miss?”

I wiped mud off my skirt, brushing my hair from my eyes. “You’re welcome. You need to watch those dogs.”

He smiled faintly but didn’t say much else. I didn’t think much of it — just another clumsy rescue on another messy day.

—

Later, as I wandered toward the village square, I ran straight into trouble. A girl, roughly my age, had dropped a basket of fruit in the dust. Two older girls were teasing her, snatching fruit, and laughing.

Before I could think, I jumped in.

“Hey! Give her that back!” I yelled, tripping over the corner of a wooden cart and sending a small pile of apples rolling everywhere.

The bullies turned, startled. The girl I had saved glared at me. “You’re going to get yourself hurt!”

“I… I’m fine!” I said quickly, standing up, brushing myself off. But then I stumbled again, stepping on an apple and almost falling flat on my face.

The bullies laughed, but somehow, my determination made them pause. I grabbed a loose stick from the ground, waving it in mock bravery. “Back off!”

The girl I saved finally ran over, grinning. “Thanks… I’m Lina. You’re crazy, but thanks.”

“I… I’m Elara,” I said, holding out a hand. And of course, I dropped the stick in my nervousness.

She laughed, snatching it up and handing it back. “You’re hopeless,” she said. “I like you already.”

And just like that, despite mud, apples, and chaos everywhere, I found a friend. One I had a feeling would stay with me for a long, long time.