Dahlia observed the crowd's expressions of disbelief, their wide eyes and slack jaws betraying their astonishment. She had anticipated this reaction—after all, she herself had been just as incredulous when she first learned of the perfume's remarkable qualities. The idea of a fragrance so superior, so affordable, and so long-lasting had seemed almost too good to be true, even to her. Yet here she was, standing before a room full of nobles and merchants, watching their skepticism slowly give way to awe.
"Of course, it's true. I can personally vouch for it," Catherine declared, her voice calm and authoritative as she tossed her long, flowing hair over her shoulder with a graceful flick of her wrist. "I'm using it right now, and I've been doing so for many days without any issues."
Her words hung in the air, carrying the weight of her noble status. The nobles fell silent, their doubts evaporating in the face of her testimony. No one dared to question her further—after all, Catherine, the daughter of a duke, was the epitome of credibility. To lie about such a thing would be social suicide, tarnishing her reputation beyond repair. The mere suggestion of deceit was unthinkable, and the crowd knew it.
Dahlia cast a grateful glance at Catherine, her eyes softening with appreciation for her friend's unwavering support. Turning back to the crowd, she continued, her voice steady and confident, "Ladies and gentlemen, I haven't finished my explanation yet. Allow me to elaborate further. The perfume comes in five distinct tiers. The bottle I hold in my hand is the most affordable option, the fifth tier, priced at a mere eighty-eight silver coins. Naturally, the perfume Catherine is using is of the highest quality—the first tier, priced at twelve gold coins per bottle, with a shelf life of an entire year."
Realization dawned on the nobles' faces, their murmurs of understanding rippling through the room. "Ah, so the eighty-eight silver coin perfume is the lowest tier," One noble remarked, nodding thoughtfully.
The crowd's excitement was palpable, though they were careful not to voice their true thoughts aloud. Even the lowest tier of Dahlia's perfume surpassed the Fourth Prince's offerings in both quality and value, but no one dared to say so openly. Offending the Fourth Prince, a man known for his vindictive nature and growing political ambitions, was a risk few were willing to take. The potential consequences—social ostracism, financial ruin, or worse—loomed large in their minds.
"Five tiers? That's quite an impressive range. Miss Dahlia, you've truly outdone yourself with such a variety of perfumes," One noble commented, his tone tinged with admiration.
"The top-tier perfume costs twelve gold coins, but with a shelf life of a full year, it's an absolute bargain," Another noble added, his voice filled with conviction.
"Indeed! Even the lowest tier, with a shelf life of one hundred and eighty days, is an incredible value. This is simply too good to pass up,"A third noble chimed in, his enthusiasm infectious.
The nobles' praise filled the room, their voices overlapping in a chorus of approval. Compared to the Fourth Prince's perfume, which was exorbitantly priced and notoriously short-lived, Dahlia's offerings seemed almost too good to be true. Many of the aristocrats, their interest thoroughly piqued, began to fidget with excitement, their hands itching to reach for their coin purses. For them, perfume was more than a luxury—it was a necessity. In a society where bathing was a rare occurrence, especially during the harsh winter months, the nobles often went weeks, if not months, without a proper wash. The resulting body odor was a persistent problem, one they were desperate to mask with a high-quality fragrance.
"Miss Dahlia, how much do the other tiers cost?" One noble inquired, his voice eager as he leaned forward in anticipation.
Dahlia smiled, her demeanor calm and composed as she recited the prices with practiced ease. "The first tier is twelve gold coins, the second tier is eight gold coins, the third tier is four gold coins, the fourth tier is one gold coin, and finally, the fifth tier is priced at eighty-eight silver coins." She paused, her mind briefly drifting to the supreme, ultra-luxury perfume she had kept in reserve. That particular fragrance, a masterpiece of perfumery, was not yet ready to be unveiled—she would save it for a more opportune moment.
"And what, pray tell, is the difference between the tiers, Miss Dahlia?" Another noble asked, his brow furrowed in curiosity.
"The distinction lies in the intensity and richness of the fragrance," Dahlia explained, her voice soft yet commanding. "The higher the tier, the more potent and luxurious the scent."
To demonstrate, she reached for the wooden box containing the first-tier perfume, her movements deliberate and graceful. The box itself was a work of art, its surface intricately carved with floral motifs and polished to a mirror-like sheen. She opened it to reveal a pristine white ceramic bottle, its design elegant and understated, yet exuding an air of opulence. With a gentle tug, she removed the wooden stopper, and instantly, a rich, intoxicating fragrance filled the room. The scent was so powerful, so all-encompassing, that it obliterated all other odors, leaving only the pure, unadulterated essence of luxury in its wake. The nobles inhaled deeply, their senses overwhelmed by the heady aroma, their minds transported to a world of elegance and refinement.
"This… I must have it! I absolutely must buy it!" One noble exclaimed, his voice trembling with excitement.
"Buy, buy, buy! I'll take the first tier, no question!" Another noble shouted, his enthusiasm bordering on hysteria.
The room erupted into chaos as the nobles, their restraint shattered, descended into a frenzy of desire. Coin purses were untied with reckless abandon, gold and silver coins spilling onto the table as they shouted their orders, their voices overlapping in a cacophony of greed. To an outsider, it might have seemed as though money held no value to them, so eager were they to secure their share of the coveted perfume. Dahlia watched the scene unfold, her smile widening ever so slightly, a glimmer of satisfaction in her eyes.
"Ladies and gentlemen, please proceed to the counter to make your purchases," She announced, her voice cutting through the clamor with effortless authority. With a wave of her hand, she signaled the assistants to clear the table, then stepped aside, joining Catherine at the edge of the room.
The sound of hurried footsteps echoed through the shop as the nobles and merchants rushed toward the counter, their movements frantic and uncoordinated. Their shouts filled the air, a chaotic symphony of demands that reminded Dahlia of the frenzied shoppers she had once seen in foreign markets, where people scrambled to snatch up goods as if their lives depended on it.
"Hurry, hurry! I want three bottles of the first-tier perfume, ten bottles of the second tier…" One noble bellowed, his voice hoarse with urgency.
"Twenty cans of fish, twenty cans of cucumber, and five bottles of the third-tier perfume!" Another shouted, shoving his way to the front of the line.
"Youhe Grand Wine—give me twenty bottles! And ten bolts of linen, plus a cartload of paper tissues!" A merchant demanded, his arms flailing as he tried to catch the attention of the overwhelmed assistants.
The cacophony of orders continued unabated, with many customers not even bothering to ask for prices, so desperate were they to secure their purchases before the stock ran out. The fear of missing out drove them to act with reckless abandon, their rationality swept away by the tide of their own greed.
—
Three hours later, as the midday sun reached its zenith, the shop stood eerily quiet, its shelves stripped bare. Every last item—perfumes, canned goods, wine, fabrics, and paper tissues—had been sold, leaving behind only a few wooden crates overflowing with coins of every denomination. The sheer volume of money was staggering, a testament to the overwhelming success of the day's sales.
Dahlia stood in the center of the shop, her expression one of stunned disbelief as she surveyed the aftermath. The once-pristine store was now a scene of utter disarray, with overturned chairs, scattered papers, and exhausted assistants slumped against the walls, their faces flushed with fatigue. She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out, her mind struggling to process the whirlwind of events that had just unfolded.
"Dahlia, this is incredible! Every single item sold out!" Catherine exclaimed, her voice brimming with excitement as she clapped her hands together. "I knew Lord Lucas's goods would be a hit, but this… this is beyond anything I could have imagined!"
Dahlia let out a long, weary sigh, her shoulders slumping slightly as she shook her head. "It's both good and bad, I suppose," She replied, her tone tinged with a mixture of satisfaction and concern.
While the day's success was undeniable, it also posed significant challenges for the future. This was only the first day of business, and already, their entire stock had been depleted. Though she had some reserves in storage, she doubted they would last more than a few days at this rate. The thought of customers leaving empty-handed, their expectations unmet, weighed heavily on her mind. But what troubled her most was the possibility of profiteers buying up her goods in bulk, only to resell them at exorbitant prices. Such practices would not only damage her reputation but also undermine the trust she had worked so hard to build.
The sound of heavy footsteps approaching the door snapped Dahlia out of her thoughts. Before she could react, a cold, menacing voice cut through the air, sending a chill down her spine. "Well, well, it seems Miss Dahlia's business is doing quite well, isn't it?"
Dahlia turned sharply, her eyes narrowing as she caught sight of the speaker. Her voice was steady, but there was an edge of wariness in it as she addressed him. "Your Highness, the Fourth Prince."
She had not expected Prince Liam, the Fourth Prince, to make a personal appearance, and his presence filled her with a sense of foreboding. This was no mere social visit—she could tell from the icy glint in his eyes that he had come with a purpose, and it was unlikely to be a pleasant one.
"Your Highness, what brings you here?" Catherine asked, her brow furrowing in suspicion. She stepped forward, her posture tense as she eyed the short, portly man before her. His forced smile and overly friendly demeanor did little to mask his true intentions, and the sight of his lackeys, Scott and Kevin, trailing behind him only confirmed her suspicions.
"Oh, I merely heard rumors of a new perfume on the market and thought I'd come see for myself," Prince Liam replied, his voice deceptively calm as his squinting eyes darted around the shop, taking in every detail. "But it seems I've arrived too late. The perfume has already sold out, has it?"
"Indeed, Your Highness. Every bottle has been sold," Catherine answered, her tone firm as she moved to stand protectively in front of Dahlia. It was clear to her that the Fourth Prince's visit was anything but friendly, and she was determined to shield her friend from whatever schemes he might be plotting.
"I see," The Fourth Prince said, nodding slowly. His gaze shifted to Catherine, a flicker of cold resentment passing through his eyes. The Duke, Catherine's father, had recently shown signs of supporting the First Prince in the ongoing struggle for the throne, a fact that had soured the Fourth Prince's opinion of her. Once, he had viewed her with a certain fondness, but now, she was little more than an obstacle in his path.
Turning his attention back to Dahlia, the Fourth Prince's expression darkened, his voice taking on a menacing edge. "Miss Dahlia, I must ask you to hand over the person responsible for creating this perfume," He said, his tone cold and unyielding. "You see, I recently developed a new method for producing perfume, only to discover that a traitor in my employ has stolen it and passed it on to others."
"What?" Catherine's eyes widened in disbelief, her voice rising in indignation as she stared at the Fourth Prince. The sheer audacity of his claim left her speechless—how could anyone utter such a shameless lie with a straight face?
Dahlia's lips pressed into a thin line, her mind racing as she processed the gravity of the situation. The Fourth Prince's accusation was beyond anything she had anticipated. He was not merely trying to intimidate her—he was openly attempting to seize control of her business, heedless of the consequences or the potential backlash from Catherine's father, the Duke. It was clear that he was prepared to resort to brute force if necessary, his pride and greed outweighing any sense of decorum or honor.
Just as the Fourth Prince opened his mouth to press his demands further, a soft, melodic voice interrupted him, its tone gentle yet laced with an undercurrent of authority. "Fourth Brother, what brings you here?"
The Fourth Prince froze, his words dying in his throat as he forced a false smile onto his face. Turning toward the door, he greeted the newcomer with a shallow, insincere laugh. "Ah, I didn't expect to see you here, dear little sister Lucy. Have you come to buy perfume as well?"
Princess Lucy stepped into the shop, her presence commanding yet serene, her face adorned with a gentle, disarming smile. "Indeed, I thought I'd stop by to see how Dahlia's shop is faring," She replied, her eyes fixed on the Fourth Prince with a quiet intensity.
In truth, Lucy's visit was no coincidence. She had come to lend her support to Dahlia, having anticipated trouble from the moment she received a bottle of the new perfume the previous day. Her trusted aide, Jones, had been keeping a close watch on the Fourth Prince's movements, and Lucy had known that he would not let such a threat to his monopoly go unchallenged.
"I'm afraid you're out of luck, dear sister. The perfume has already sold out, so I'll be taking my leave," The Fourth Prince said, his voice cold as he cast a final, resentful glance at Dahlia. He knew that with Lucy present, any attempt to strong-arm Dahlia would be futile—at least for now.
As he brushed past Princess Lucy, he paused briefly, his voice dropping to a low, threatening whisper. "A word of advice, little sister: some matters are best left alone. Consider this a friendly warning from your dear Fourth Brother."
Lucy's smile remained unshaken, her composure flawless as she replied, "Perhaps. But we shall see." Her hand rested lightly on Jones's arm, a subtle gesture of reassurance. As long as their father, the King, still held the throne, no one—not even the Fourth Prince—would dare to lay a hand on her.
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