"Is Lord Antel rich?" a younger girl near the front whispered, tugging on the hem of Livya's apron. She was barely six years old, her hair tied up in two messy ribbons, her toes curling inside her worn leather shoes.
Livya paused her restless pacing, smoothing down her clean white apron with a soft, patient smile. She reached down to tuck a stray lock of hair behind the girl's ear before looking down the row of wide, expectant eyes.
"He has plenty to share, sweetie," Livya replied, her voice calm and steady enough to soothe the fidgety crowd. "But more importantly, he has a generous heart."
"Does he bring toys?" Jorah asked from two spots down, leaning out of line so far he nearly lost his balance. He wiped his nose on his sleeve, his eyes round with greedy hope.
