Kurzheim, the Southern Isles.

Hans stepped off the small ship onto the dock, before stopping to take it all in. Kurzheim. The docks where small, sad, and in ill repair. The sky was grey, the air chill and wet. What dirt he could see was grey and full of clay, with only weeds and marsh plants growing here and there. The small fleet of fishing ships, while tough, were clearly old, meaning the fishermen had prolonged their life well past what they should have. In short, everything he had heard about Kurzheim, was true.

A crashing sound caused his hairs to stand on end, as he turned as saw the porters knock one of his chests over, dangerously close to the water.

"Be careful with that you fool!" Hans was greedy, but he was practical. If it was his clothes, he could have cared less, but that chest was one of a number that included Hans' capital. Since he was a boy, Hans had invested and saved heavily, pouring much of his Princely allowance into various ventures and saving accounts. Amazingly, these accounts where not frozen or seized. As a result, when Hans left for Kurzheim, he brought some of it with him. Hans was cautious, and did not bring it all in one trip for fear of ship wreck or piracy.

Hans understood economics and capitalism very well, he was not one to stockpile cash and gold to merely look at it. He was going to need every krone to invest in and upgrade the island. Not that he was a philanthropist. Put enough money into the island, find something of value and churn it out, make money, and as a result, get money back. Maybe even make more than he had. He just had to find… something. Anything.

The Porters lifted the chest back onto the cart, and continued up the dock. They had been briefed on what to do. Take all the luggage to the manor. Easy as pie. Always cautious, Hans accompanied them to the manor. The manor, his future home was to be the heart of his new little empire. The first changes and reforms would be there, then circulate to the far corners of the island.

…

To call it a manor was a crime. It was a throwback to an earlier era, when an armored knight in chainmail was cutting edge. The small stone keep was surrounded by a stone wall, built to keep thieves and animals out, not armies. A few outbuildings had been built as time went on, but these were simple brick and wood buildings, built for cost, not for appearance. The manor's animals wandered about freely, and one had to be careful where he stepped.

Time to get to work.

He directed the porters to leave the chests inside the keep's main hall, as he walked carefully towards the kitchen. Built as annex to the Keep, it was where the first changes were to be made. He had directed his steward to prepare all staff for inspection, so they were waiting for him.

He opened the door, causing a number of cooks and kitchen staff to scramble from minor tasks and chairs to a single rank. Like soldiers waiting for an inspection, they stood at attention- silent, unmoving, and not daring to do anything that might draw attention. They all knew what was coming. A purge. New lords always like trimming staff, and the maids and servants were the first to go.

Hans eyed his new kitchen staff. Ordered in seniority, the first on his left was the head chef. Unlike most of the others, he was calmed and relaxed. A large round Frenchman, he had been brought in by the last Lord to cook delicacies and fine foods. Just one way to make life here a bit more bearable.

"What's your name good sir?" Hans asked with a calm, polite expression. He already knew the answer.

"Gaston, my lord."

"What qualifications do you have to run my kitchen, Chef?"

"My Lord, I have served in kitchens across Europe, including Versailles. I was trained by the finest chefs in Europe. I can make food fit for kings."

"What's your salary, good chef?"

"2500 Krone a month. A great deal for someone of my talent."

That explains why the kitchen expenses were so high. "I see. You're fired." Without pausing, he walked down to the next man, a thin gaunt man. He had blond hair and light blue eyes that had seen more than most in his profession.

"What's your name?"

"Sous Chef Hauser, my lord." He had a clear, grave German accent.

"What's your qualifications?"

"Only an incomplete culinary education and years of working here, my lord."

"What's the story behind that, Hauser?"

The German tugged at his collar, sweating profusely. Good, he wasn't arrogant. The man feared for his job.

"My lord, when I was in school, a revolution broke out in my state. Being a young, stupid boy, I joined the revolt. It failed. I had to flee Germany to avoid the hangman. I ended up here."

"What's your salary?"

"750 Krone a month."

"I see. You're the new chef. You'll be informed of your raise within a week." He left the visibly relieved German, to walk up and down kitchen.

"You all know who I am. You all know what I did. Know one thing, and know it well." He paused, smiling. "My favorite food is sandwiches. I don't need a large staff. I have no problem firing all of you. Show me a reason to keep you."

Without waiting for a response, he strode out of the room, smiling. He may not be the King, but he was the certainly King of his island.

…

Hans closed the door behind him, taking off his jacket before kicking his boots off. It had been a long day, first inspecting his entire staff and then reviewing finances. 11 people had been fired today, and judging by the expense report, 4 more would have to be fired within the next month. For that he intended to use his heads of staff to trim incompetence from their teams. It had been productive. He thought about the purge, and the new leadership.

Of course he remembered Chef Richard Hauser. He had learned later that the cook had a wife and children, hence his commitment to his job. He had heard a tale from the other staff of a hard-working man who worked his way up from kitchen boy to Sous Chef. More importantly, he could always threaten to ship him back to Germany with a tip as to who he was. He could easily be threatened. He very well might do.

Second was Klara. The head of servants, the elderly woman had served the Lords of Kurzheim since she was a little girl. No one knew the keep like her. She was useful as many of her former masters had risen to higher posts since that point. And she knew their secrets, dirty and clean. For the right price, Klara would be glad to tell her new Lord what she knew. Whether for Blackmail or to be the perfect Host, Klara was invaluable.

Third was Rolf. Replacing the previous chief groundskeeper, Hans knew little about the large mysterious man. It was his job to correct the sorry state of repairs in the estate, as well as manage the Garden, Stable and Tool Shop. He saw no reason to get rid of Rolf, but no reason to keep him on. He'd see how he do.

Most important was his Steward, Wagner. Hans had relied on the man a long time. Ruthless, cold, brilliant and most importantly of all, Loyal. The Steward was the right hand man of any ruler, the man who ensured things got done. Wagner was a mercenary that Hans had hired back in his teens, initially as his bodyguard. As time went on, Hans gave him increased responsibilities, as he noticed he was quite intelligent for a man of his education, leading the Prince to take him under his wing.

He had done well and had proven to be competent and loyal. As such, a Stewardship was his appointment. Wagner was short but strong, with Black hair and would have had a common unremarkable face, if not for the facial scars common in his profession. He kept a cleanly shaven appearance, and had gladly taken to wearing fine suits, after years of wearing the rags of a mercenary.

Hans slid into bed, attempting to drift off into sleep. But as always, he couldn't. His mind wandered back to that snowy summer day.

Oh Anna, if only there was someone out there that loved you…

Such stupidity. If only he had not bragged.

…

Fritz stood at attention as the Corporals made their way up and down the line with their batons, "Correcting" deficiencies as they saw fit. He was corrected moments earlier with a crack of the baton as his gut stuck out too much. This was the way of the armies of Europe. Discipline was everything, and with no fear there was no discipline.

He wore the "white" uniform of his country, the Southern Isle, although to be fair, it was more similar in color to a coffee stain. Like all other men here, he was conscripted during the last mass draft. Unlike most here, he was actually from Kurzheim. Most of his comrades where recruited from stockades and military prisons, as Kurzheim was a "Safe" place to put undesirable soldiers.

Still in initial training, Fritz was under much more considerate lock down and training. They were due to be issued their rifles today, a considerable step towards being considered true soldiers. Initial training was rather short, as the leadership felt that it was a waste of time to drill the soldiers too much as they were unlikely to see combat.

"Kompanie! Ach-tung!" It was their drill instructor, Sergeant Wulfhart. He had been brutal on them, but was a fair man. A Prussian Veteran of the previous war, he felt it was his duty to prepare the men as much as possible. He had ended up here after a baton cracked the jaw of a Lord's son on another Island.

"You vorthless arshloches are to be inspected by ze Lord today. If you embarrass your country, your uniform, or vurs of all embarrass me, I vill beat you to death!" He made his way down the line, looking for yet more deficiencies. Unlike the first day, he only had to stop every few men. "EYES FRONT!" Crack. "GUT IN!" A thrust with the baton. "FEET TOGETHER!" A kick to the shin. He came up to Fritz, who overly exaggerated the act of sucking his gut in. The Prussian paused, smiling. "Now ve're learning, kinder!"

"You vill be presented before Lord Hans, so you vill receive your muskets. Afterwards, I vill drill you filth so you are ready to be seen by Lord Hans. RIGHT FACE! Vorwärts Marsch!"

…

Lord Hans watched as his Battalion Passed in Review. It was a mixed affair. Most were sloppily trained in drill, and it showed here. Men out of step, incorrect uniforms, and other tell-tale signs of a crappy army. All except for the training platoon. Those men made minor mistakes, but marched past with a discipline unseen in the other formations. Led by a German Sergeant still wearing the Prussian blue, they marched by, in step and in steady ranks.

Hans turned to Oleg. "Why are the new recruits marching better than the line companies?"

"Well, firstly the line companies hardly drill. Secondly, the Sergeant leading the Training platoon is a new arrival. Broke the Lord of Eifelheim's son's jaw because he wasn't at proper attention."

Hans chuckled. "Well, whatever he's doing, it's working. I'd make changes to the garrison, but I need a strong economy before I can make a strong army. Keep him where he's at. Start making assessments Oleg. When the time comes, I need to know who to keep."

"Of course, my lord."

…

"Good Job kinder, keep it up and I vill make soldat out of you yet!"

The group smiled, appreciating the minor complement from the man. As much as they feared and hated him initially, they had come to respect the Sergeant and craved to impress the man. The Sergeant had a small smirk on his face, clearly pleased with his men.

"You march better zan any of ze other filth on zat parade square. Zat's damn good." His smile faded and returned to his trademark scowl. "But still Prussian Landwehr march better zan you dumkopfs! Tomorrow I vill drill you until your feet bleed! Dismissed!"

Fritz fell out, smiling. For all his threats, their Sergeant had never released the men this early in the day. Like any good Drill Sergeant, he had to be threatening until the end. Slowly but surely, Wulfhart was beginning to respect them.

…

The Lord and Lady of Kurzheim ate in silence for yet another meal, both frustrated by their own prides. Lady Kurzheim while committed to the idea of conceiving a child, she was less thrilled by its… execution. She had expected Hans to bed her already and be done with it. It would be loveless, but it would get her pregnant. Instead, Hans hadn't as much as given her a kiss.

For his own part, Hans was stubborn. Despite his cold blooded nature, Hans was a little skittish at the idea of sealing his marriage vows. He was uneasy with the idea of making love to a woman who didn't love him. To be honest, he was a little nervous at the idea altogether. Hans was still a virgin, as he had figured he could worry about bedding a wife or mistress when he was King. As he had wooed Princess Anna, she had foolhardy love for him. She would forgive a poor performance on their wedding night. Lady Johanna would certainly mock and ridicule him.

And that was Hans' great weakness. He had to be respected. If he did poorly, it'd be shameful, and how could he be ashamed in front of his wife? He had to calculate everything, to plan everything. And one could not plan or prepare for his wedding night. And thus, it terrified him.

He cursed himself. He had to brag, he had to smugly reveal his whole damned plan to Anna. Now granted the frozen heart was a setback for his plan, but in hindsight he could have made it work. He could have admitted that he did not feel true love, but that he believed in time his "crush" would develop into true love. It might have worked. If not, he wouldn't be on this shit hole of an island. He could have started again, somewhere else.

That's all he could do during quiet moments, was think of how he could have done things different. Hell, his original plan of arranging an accident for Queen Elsa was unnecessary. Given her isolation, he would have likely have become Regent for an absent Queen. But of course his plan went to shit. And here he was. He thanked god above that his father gave him a Lordship, or a job of any kind for that matter. If he had been thrown in prison, with nothing to do but think, he would have gone mad.

They both dismissed themselves within moments of each other and went to their separate bedrooms.

…

Johanna closed the door to her bedroom, her room already prepared by her Lady in Waiting. She asked if she could be of any further use, before being dismissed. Johanna took off her dress, before getting in bed. She looked at the photograph of her dearly departed Franz. A young officer and her fiancé, he had been killed in the last war. Although a minor war, men still do die in such affairs, and her beloved Franz had been one of them. No marriage, no wedding night.

She had clutched the portrait, sobbing. She was willing to do what it took to get revenge. If she gave birth to a King and became Regent while he was young, she could go to war. Corona would pay for killing Franz. It didn't matter if they played all nice now, and they were on good terms. If that stupid bitch Rapunzel hadn't been found, the succession would have gone as planned. And the war of the Coronan succession would have never had happened. And Franz would be alive.

She would pay. Rapunzel would die, and Corona would burn. She would spread her legs to anyone to make that happen. She would bear a King.

She kissed the portrait. I'll get her Franz. I'll make her pay for killing you.

…

Bit of notes.

This chapter was a pain in the ass to write. For days, it languished at 1500 words or so, and felt unfinished. Bit of writers block, as the first two chapters practically wrote themselves. Then in one day I churned out the entire second half, sat on it overnight, and posted in the morning as I always do. Good news is like a third of Chapter 4 is already written, and as I have a good idea on what it's about, it shouldn't take too long.

Feeling pretty good on Lady Johanna's new motivations, should make things fun, as always. Felt that some proper motivation was needed. Between the two schemers, we should see plenty of Shadow Boxing in the future. Please Review and Keep reading.

As for the Prussian, it was not unusual for officers and NCOs of different countries to serve in foreign armies for the right price. As for Prussian discipline (i.e. blatantly beating men for minor infractions), this was common for the era. If anything, I toned it down.