The sun has just risen over the sky as I find myself cocooned in the warmth of the kitchen, Emma faithfully standing by my side. I haven't received the bad news, nor will I receive it for a while, so my smile is easy and unrestrained as I watch the pastries rise in the oven.
"Careful, your highness, you'll burn ya hands if you press 'em up against the glass like that," Emma cautions behind me. The glass is indeed scalding hot and I separate from it, only to pull my finished delicacy from the old-fashioned oven that took me a good half-hour to figure out how to operate.
