Liora turned toward him.
The old man carefully lowered the tray onto a nearby table before wiping his flour-covered hands against his apron. Then, with slow and almost hesitant steps, he approached them, his eyes never leaving her face. "It really is you," he whispered, emotion trembling through his voice. "You've come home."
Liora offered him a polite smile, though uncertainty lingered in her expression. "I'm afraid... I don't believe we've met."
The old baker chuckled softly, his smile carrying no disappointment. "No." He shook his head gently. "You wouldn't remember." His eyes became distant as old memories resurfaced. "You were only a little girl."
He laughed quietly to himself. "Every seventh day, you'd somehow escape your tutors. You'd sneak out of the palace with only one poor maid chasing after you."
Liora's eyebrows lifted. "I did?"
