The Gentle Princess creaked as it swayed like a giant upon a hammock.

Within the many corridors and cabins of this majestic vessel, the skull upon the black flag no longer jeered. The bright colours of the Kingdom of Tirea was now proudly displayed, each banner proclaiming the wall it hung upon as property of the realm.  

And at its helm was a young woman more often seen dancing amidst the gardens of orphanages than steering a ship’s wheel–which was why she purposefully never laid a finger upon it. 

Florella Contzen, 1st Princess to the Kingdom of Tirea, was quite fond of this ship. 

She had little wish to see it capsize with a flick of her wrist. Though much of its interior had been ransacked during the events of its appropriation, it was a stately vessel worthy of earning the admiration of its allies. 

And most importantly, the distance of its foes.

To that effect, she possessed a crew capable of performing the steering for her–as well as the host of other tasks which a war galleon of this magnitude required.

Even while docked, the ogres now formally requisitioned to her service did not boast an idle hand. They went to and fro, sweat upon their brows as they prepared a ship which could boast a crew complement far larger than what it currently possessed. Even when joined by several scores of newly attached sailors and all the knights at her command, there still seemed room for more.

And this meant the 1st princess could not stand idly by while the joints of her crew stretched. Especially when this was not Trierport that The Gentle Princess was docked at.

It was the island previously claimed by the lawless, yet still inhabited by them. 

A haven of the seas. A bedrock of piracy.

Port Defiance.

Even aboard the finest ship her kingdom had boasted in over a century, the princess knew she could not rest on her laurels. Not while there was so much to do. 

The entire port had been annexed, its more permanent residents being allowed passage away or else given the right to swear fealty to the kingdom. But loyalty was cheap and words were free. Particularly to those who had already pledged as many oaths to the sea as there were gulls in the sky.

And so with her brows dented and her lips firmly pursed together, Florella went to work, rigging masts and tightening ropes not for this ship, but for her kingdom. 

To seek ways to alleviate the suffering of the common people.

To lift their livelihoods and encourage their mercantile spirit.

To embolden her valiant protectors as they defended the borders of the realm.

And to answer the wishes of her cute little sister, who so very rarely asked her of anything.

Which why was–

“Bleghh … blaa … uck … ack … achoo!”

Florella desperately flicked away a cloud of green miasma surfacing from the cooking pot before her.

It was a horrific sight.

Nobody who would look upon that green cloud would think it was anything less than the rancid breath of an acid dragon. And yet Florella not only continued stirring with her wooden spatula, but she even added additional components.

Components. But not ingredients. 

Florella wasn’t creating any warming hotpot. 

If she was, she’d be surrounded by her admirers keen on complimenting her homely abilities. Most of them her knights. Those tasked with defending her were fanatical in their duties. Ever more so since she was allowed to be abducted beneath their very noses. Though they were her valiant protectors, they had failed, and now their shame could be seen filling the very air they walked.

But not as much as this ominous green cloud.

Thus, the princess had the galley to herself … with none to query why the 1st princess felt the need to dabble in poison making.

“Mreow.”

Or almost none.

A slightly tubby grey tabby hopped onto the stovetop. It slinked beneath Florella’s elbow, and adhering to curiosity as much as bravery, leaned in to give a sniff of the mysterious concoction.

A moment later, it hurried away again with a now wounded nose. 

Florella wasn’t certain when the cat had stowed itself aboard The Gentle Princess. Only that it’d been discovered clutching a bowl written with the word ‘Beanieboo’.

She was even less certain how she could explain she was only making soap.

It’d taken a particularly thorough conversation with a very surprised alchemist in Trierport to understand the mechanisms behind the crafting process. 

To Florella’s surprise, it was a relatively simple task, providing that the basic tools were available. The most common ingredients was oil extracted from luminara herbs, mixed with the sap from any tree recently sneezed at by a druid. 

She’d attained substitutes, and now merely needed to boil, mould and allow the product to harden.

She was currently on the failing stage.

“Plehh … blaa … yuck …”

As this was a product she hoped to eventually become a source of income for the kingdom, it was important that it was created using the highest quality reagents possible. To that end, she hadn’t been frugal with her willingness to experiment. 

But while she’d come prepared in the knowledge that much of these reagents were temperamental, she hadn’t quite expected the level of resistance to her attempts.

Florella’s will was undiminished.

Few things in life worth doing were ever achieved easily. And that included crafting soap worthy of her family’s seal. Florella never expected it to go well. After all, measuring quantities by eye and using a cooking pot for crafting was hardly an ideal workshop.

But she had hope.

Especially given the arrival of her first visitor brave enough to accept the fumes.

“Ah, now that’s nostalgic,” said Mr. Oakenforge, his dwarven nose seen taking in the miasma like a sommelier examining a fine vintage. “Unidentified smog. Makes me feel like I’m back home.”

Florella smiled in response. She would have offered a nod, but that would involve dipping her head even millimetres towards the cooking pot.

Haldrin Oakenforge. 

Formerly a dwarven prospector of note, now master of one of the leading merchant guilds in Trierport. And for the soap she intended to create, she required both sides of him.

“I’m gladdened you enjoy the scent. I confess it’s slightly overbearing for my tastes.”

“Ah, you’ll get used to it. Especially once we start excavating the tunnels. All the best have their own. Mine came with a nice charred cedar smell. It’s different at the start, of course. The fumes will make you feel like you’ve got your ears blocked as well as your nose. But come a few decades, you’ll be wishing the local rum will have half the kick it does.”

“I shall look forward to that day. Unfortunately, as this is intended to be soap and not an accompaniment to rum, I’m somewhat uncertain if I can use it. At least in its current state.”

“Then I might be able to help. I’ve finished my initial inspections of the island’s geology.”

“Goodness, already? That’s wonderful news. May I ask what your findings are?”

“You could. But then night would have passed and I still wouldn’t have gone through everything. I gather what you want to know is if there’s anything suitable for use as a reagent in … soap. Well, you might want to shift your priorities.”

“Oh?”

“I’ve reason to believe you’ve a deposit of emberstone ore here. Not sure how much yet, but the telltale signs are there. Even a small amount is valuable stuff. In the hands of a dwarven armoursmith, you could outfit a knight in enough armour to look and feel like death itself. I’d say your kingdom struck gold, but emberstone ore is worth more per pound.”

Florella nodded as she focused on beating back the very large bubble forming, yet refusing to burst.

A rare ore. That was certainly excellent news!

However …

“My goodness, that’s highly fortunate news.”

“Not a bad find, huh?”

“Quite so. However, in regards to the soap …”

The dwarven prospector raised a bushy brow. He must not have a sweet little sister.

“Soap. Well, I can’t say I know much about that, but this is a volcanic island. A fine one too, hence the emberstone. Aside from the incredibly rare ore, you’ve minerals aplenty embedded in significant amounts of pyroclastic igneous rock. Pumice, to be exact. My wife uses it on her ankles. Swears by it.”

Florella almost jumped in joy. Perhaps she would have, if it wouldn’t result in something exploding.

After all, with mineralised volcanic rocks combined with the sea salt crystals sifted from the shore, she could surely create a fine exfoliating soap which was of the highest quality!

Perhaps also without needing to use … whatever she had purchased!

“Thank you, Mr. Oakenforge. This is extremely valuable news to me.”

“Glad to offer it. Although as I said, it’s only my initial findings. My old excavation crew will all be on the island soon, and then we’ll see about getting pickaxes down. At this point, we’re mostly waiting for the louts … I mean, our friends at the Mason’s Guild. They reckon they only need two ships to ferry over all the tools to build your island paradise. Cheap as their work, they are.”

Florella diplomatically opted to smile as her official response.

For one thing, she wouldn’t quite describe this as her island paradise. Certainly not after the Mason’s Guild arrived. It would become a manufacturing base, a defensive port and a reformatory for those charged with the most serious crimes.

Without Juliette’s suggestion, she never would have considered using convicted criminals as a source of labour for crafting soap. 

True, it was an untypical way to help them rehabilitate, but her little sister had clearly put a lot of thought into it. 

With the correct facilities and the lack of feasible ways to escape, Florella had high hopes that the current issues of systemic flight from the kingdom’s current prisons could be solved once and for all.

But most of all–

She simply wished to see Juliette hopping in excitement again.

That was very cute.

“The Gentle Princess can help,” she said, already readying her tummy for the swaying. “All of Trierport will be invited to aid in this endeavour. We will ferry as many goods and people as needed, so long as they are willing.”

“I imagine they all will. It’s in their interests. Once your knights learn to cope with the sand in their boots, this port will end up as a fine bastion against the storms. Of course, I won’t say whether or not you should accept everyone’s hand, but you can at least count on all the guilds to offer it.”

Indeed, Florella could.

Especially with the amount of crowns she was willing to offer. 

She wasn’t inclined towards towers and walls. But she accepted it was a language the rogue captains from the Principalities understood well. Now that the winds were in her sail, she had no wish to delay.

“I’m thankful for every willing hand and hoping heart. It is not often our kingdom claims land, least not so far from our shores. But with fortune by our side, I hope that we can weather any attempts to reclaim this port.”

“Begging your pardon, but it’s not fortune you need. It’s a really big ship with a lot of cannons. And you just happen to have one.”

“Yes. And just the one. The Gentle Princess cannot remain indefinitely here. Nor can I. We’ll almost certainly be required to see off some other threat before long.”

The dwarf hummed, his eyes clouding in thought as he peered at the cooking pot.

But that may have just been the fumes too.

“Mind if I speak freely?”

“I thought that’s how it’s always been between us, Mr. Oakenforge.”

“That it is. Then here’s my thoughts on the matter. You don’t need to be everywhere. Crime is business. Pirates understand that. As do those they work with. Crime has existed before the first laws were struck. You’ll never be everywhere. If you are, then so will the criminals as well.”

“A curious observation. What do you propose, then?”

“You keep to the waters here. Or nearabouts. This island is almost midway between Trierport and the estuary to Reitzlake. Here, you can frighten away the worst of the bunch from both.”

“I see … but where would they then go?”

The dwarf shrugged.

“Elsewhere, where your taxes aren’t as well collected.”

Florella stopped stirring her oozing mixture. She regretted it at once as the highly concerning bubble came back with a vengeance.

She began to stab it with her spatula.

“I cannot do that. To see to only parts of the kingdom would mean to value differently the lives of those under my care. Were I to command the eventual captain of this vessel to patrol only our wealthiest shores, it would ensure those living elsewhere would be rewarded with the bleakest of days.”

The usually free speaking dwarf hesitated. 

Florella did not miss it.

“Is there something the matter, Mr. Oakenforge?”

“Only rumours, Your Highness.”

“Rumours wild enough to make you refer to my title. What has the Fellowship of Traders heard?”

“Only what we could already guess. With the Smugglers Guild of Reitzlake cowed, it was only natural that organised crime be taken elsewhere. Troubling, yes … but if I may say so, this also means an opportunity to be contained.”

Florella pursed her lips.

Containment. He was suggesting to funnel the criminal elements where they could do the least harm. A very mercantile approach. And not poor advice. After all, it was true what he said about the endurance of crime.

When it came to besting those who sought to befoul the kingdom, there were no finales and no happy endings. Only bouts of interludes as the actors changed names and locations. 

She knew this already.

But she at least hoped it wouldn’t happen so soon.

“Already? Reitzlake has barely been tempered. Roland … The Crown Prince’s efforts to exert control over the docks has scarcely been allowed to settle. The smugglers are still scattering.”

“Cockroaches need but a night to scatter to the far ends of the world. And these only need to go so far as your border. My friends in low places tell me some spots are having a busy tourist season.”

Florella paused, before a single word came to her mind. 

“Granholtz.”

The dwarven merchant nodded.

To the south, the Royal House of Carx was still embroiled in civil war, leaving little but broken dreams and empty pockets to be smuggled from Weinstadt. To the north west, the Nebel Gate watched over the only point of access to Lissoine, and few smugglers were willing to brave Lissoine’s navy or the magic of the Wovencoille. 

Of the three borders, that shared with the Grand Duchess was the most vulnerable. 

Though Tristan commanded the Loerstadt Gate well, he could do little against the countless mountain trails which existed along the entire eastern border.

And the increased use of these paths invited an altogether different danger.

An emboldening of the criminal syndicates of Granholtz. 

If there was business to be had, then they would come like fleas to a sick hound. And unlike those of the Principalities, the smugglers of Granholtz were organised. They were professional. And they did not need ships to be dangerous.

Particularly should the countryside nobility delay in turning them away.

It was a moment fraught with peril.

Thus, Florella came to a simple conclusion.

She needed soap.

Her hands went back to work, rhythmically stirring a liquid now beginning to solidify like a roux.

It was satisfying seeing the first bar of soap coming to life. 

She didn’t expect smugglers and shadowy guilds to be deterred by the presence of hygiene products. But it would at least make Juliette happy. 

And if Florella was certain about anything … it was that the cute smile of her youngest sister would be able to turn even the foulest of hearts back onto the road of virtue.

She couldn’t imagine anyone disagreeing.