Dahlia stepped out of what should have been her new home and set off down the street. The sun shone down with a gentle warmth, the red brick streets of the royal capital bustling with people and carriages.
This kingdom, Ordine, had a history going back over two hundred years. It was a peaceful and well-governed land with fair and sensible laws. The royal capital was exceptionally safe and orderly, so Dahlia had heard. Sure enough, a young woman could walk through the city alone without fear, something that was apparently unthinkable in other kingdoms.
She was thankful to have been reborn in this place, even if it was in an entirely new world.
It would have been nice if that good luck had carried over to the matter of her marriage, but perhaps that was asking too much. With slightly quickened steps, Dahlia turned off the main street and made her way to a small salon with a blue roof.
“Hi, Irma. Are you busy?”
“Oh, there’s our new bride! Come on in. We’re just about to have lunch.”
Seemingly finished with her morning clients, Dahlia’s dark-haired friend was sweeping up the hair on the floor.
“Thanks. I’m not a bride yet, but I’ll take you up on lunch. Is Marcello in?”
“Yeah, he’s in the kitchen. I’ll be there once I’ve finished cleaning up here, but you go on and have something to eat.”
Dahlia didn’t need to be shown the way; she knew the salon well. She made her way to the back and through the door that led into the kitchen.
“Oh, hi, Dahlia! What can I get you? Orange juice? Glass of wine?”
There, taking his lunch, was just the man she was looking for—Marcello, from the Couriers’ Guild. This sturdily built man with sandy hair was Irma’s husband and a good friend of Dahlia’s. Dahlia had heard that he often came home for lunch, and she was pleased to find him here.
“Could I have some orange juice? Thanks.”
He obliged, handing her a plate with some sandwiches, too, as she sat down across from him at the table.
Irma’s sandwiches were always a delight. Today’s were on thickly sliced rye bread, with two different fillings. One featured a beautifully balanced combination of cheese, smoked ham, and lettuce; the other contained egg and sliced vegetables mixed with generous amounts of fresh mayonnaise. Dahlia had the recipe for both, but somehow she couldn’t quite replicate Irma’s flavors.
They ate in silence, and Irma came in just as Dahlia was finishing her first sandwich. She drank her orange juice and, once he’d finished eating, turned to Marcello.
“Marcello, I’m sorry to trouble you again after you just moved all my furniture the other day, but I’m afraid I need it moved back. As soon as possible, preferably.”
“That’s no problem. I can do it today if after four’s all right. A few of the lads’ll be free then. Did Tobias have enough already?”
“Did it not suit the new place?”
Dahlia couldn’t help but smile wryly as both husband and wife questioned her at the same time.
“He broke off our engagement.”
“Huh?”
“What?”
Once again, the two spoke in unison. Summoning up the cheeriest smile she could, Dahlia curtly explained the situation.
“Tobias Orlando has found true love, so he says.”
Dead silence. The couple’s faces became as stiff as a pair of masks.
Speaking of which, Dahlia hadn’t seen much in the way of masks since coming to this world. It was a shame; she was sure they’d be popular with the children if shops sold them when the winter festival came around. Held in the royal capital each year, the festival was best known as an event for couples to enjoy and an opportunity for lonely hearts to find a new partner. It dawned on her then that she and Tobias had never gone. She herself had never suggested it, but she couldn’t help wondering if there might have been more to it than that.
Dahlia’s escapist pondering was suddenly interrupted by the others at the table.
“Is he off his rocker?!” Marcello shouted. “You just moved in together!”
“After two years, that’s what he comes out with?!” Irma huffed, incensed.
“‘True love’ my ass! Cheating’s what that is!”
“Unbelievable!”
Seeing the two of them get so angry on her behalf, Dahlia couldn’t help feeling pleased. Did that make her a little twisted? She hoped not.
Over the last two years, Dahlia, Tobias, Irma, and Marcello had met many a time to enjoy meals and drinks together. Calling them best friends might have been an exaggeration, but they certainly enjoyed one another’s company. Dahlia had heard that Marcello and Tobias often went drinking together after Marcello finished transporting goods for Orlando & Co. She felt a little guilty about souring that relationship.
“I appreciate it, both of you. But I’m okay, honestly. This engagement was something our fathers decided, after all, and both of them are gone now.”
The moment she said that, something else occurred to her.
As far as Tobias was concerned, the benefit of marrying Dahlia must have lain in gaining the endorsement of her father, a master magical tool craftsman. Dahlia was a full-fledged toolmaker too, but unlike her father, she had not been honored with a title, and her skills were still a long way from matching his. In short, there wasn’t much in it for Tobias now that her father was no longer alive. If he’d found a girl he really liked, perhaps it wasn’t surprising that his priorities had changed.
“You haven’t registered your marriage yet, have you, Dahlia?” Irma asked.
“No, we were going to do that tomorrow. We haven’t even filled out the form yet.”
“Well, thank your lucky stars! You deserve so much better,” Irma said with a vigorous nod.
Dahlia would have preferred it if Tobias had made up his mind about this sooner, but yes, at least he hadn’t waited until they were actually married.
“He’s got some nerve, making a girl like you cry,” Marcello growled. “He can pay every last coin of the removal fees, and you bet I’ll pad those bills! Bah, I’m never drinking with him again.”
Dahlia had nearly pointed out that she wasn’t crying, but Marcello’s voice had grown more thunderous with every word, so she decided to hold her peace.
“Oh, Dahlia. It’s all right, you know. You can cry if you want to. How about having a few drinks with us? I can close up shop for the afternoon.”
“There’s an idea,” Marcello agreed. “If you give me your key, you can stay here, and I’ll take care of moving the furniture. Going back to that house and seeing Tobias must be the last thing you want.”
Two pairs of brown eyes—Irma’s like cinnamon, and Marcello’s a darker, terra-cotta shade—gazed at Dahlia with concern. These two were always so in tune with each other. Dahlia felt a pang of envy.