His Royal Highness(2)

Security wants to check that I’m okay, but I brush past them and, without hesitating, crouch down in front of the girl, my hands clasped daintily. I tilt my head and smile. My cheeks are still stained red with embarrassment, but other than that, I’m Princess Elena.

“Hello there. What’s your name?” I ask, tone soft and sweet, just a pinch higher than my normal voice.

“Mc-McKenna,” she stutters.

I smile. “McKenna, it’s a pleasure to meet you. That’s a pretty book you have there. May I see it?”

She nods and hands it over, and just like that, the situation is salvaged. Five minutes later, McKenna has a shiny new autograph and three photos with Princess Elena ready for her mom to purchase in the gift shop. Her smile is permanently affixed to her cheeks—or it will be until her brother does something else to annoy her.

For the remainder of my shift, I smile and chat and pose with children, but inside, I am dead. Not only did I bypass my razor this morning, I also said, Eh, screw it, and decided to leave on my cotton granny panties—y’know, the droopy ones that cover your entire butt and then some—and I know Ryan saw them.

I know.

They’re an ugly, faded pair the color of eggplants, but I can’t bear to part with them.

I glance at him out of the corner of my eye, but he doesn’t meet my gaze. His vision is undoubtedly clouded by a shabby purple hue.

Wonderful.

I’ve had a crush on Ryan ever since he first assumed his post as His Royal Highness ten months ago. He walked into the training room, sheathed in the requisite emerald green coat and tan pants, and my heart pitter-pattered in my chest. His light brown hair is infused with the shine of a thousand diamonds. His eyes are the color of a summer sky. He smiles and the moms waiting in line sag in defeat. We chat before every shift, and sometimes, he walks me back to my locker when we’re done. Through our exchanges, I’ve started to gather intel on him, and I hoard the facts close to my heart. He likes country music. He’s never seen Armageddon. He went to college for two and a half years to pursue a theater arts degree before dropping out to work at Fairytale Kingdom full-time. He is, in short, the love of my life.

Of course, I also have a small crush on a guy who works in the bakery across the street from the castle. He sometimes gives me free coffee or fudge samples. For simplicity’s sake, and because he never wears his name tag, I call him Fudge Guy, and I’ve had a crush on him almost as long as I have on Ryan.

There’s also Jake from accounting. He’s older. Quiet. He passes out staff paychecks, and my feelings for him wax and wane every two weeks.

This might seem confusing, but I have it all organized in my fictional Rolodex of love interests. Though they never seem to amount to much of anything, I don’t let that deter me. I love love. The butterflies, the hopeful promise of what tomorrow might bring. I fell in love for the first time when I was eighteen. It was unrequited and silly, wrapped up in teen angst. Still, none of my crushes hold a candle to that one. To this day, that crush eclipses all the ones that have come after it. An annoying but enduring fact.

I’ve been hopeful about Ryan, though. A simple creature, he would be good for me. He could introduce me to the world of honky-tonk. We could watch Armageddon and I could cry on his shoulder when Bruce Willis sacrifices himself. Well, I could have…before he saw my saggy eggplant underwear.

I’m still despairing over the morning’s turn of events when I join Cal for an early dinner. We have a standing date every Wednesday. Like clockwork, I wrap up my shift, replace my gown with street clothes, and head back toward his penthouse, which overlooks the theme park. Yes, he lives inside Elena’s Castle. Lucky jerk.

In short, Charles Knightley, AKA “Cal”, is the intrepid brain behind the Knightley Company. He is to Fairytale Kingdom as Elon Musk is to Tesla. Without him, none of us would be here.

He’s a legend around these parts, and not many people have much interaction with him, especially if not on an executive team. But, for the last eight years, Cal has been my mentor, and more than that, a friend. It might seem like an odd pairing considering he’s nearly 60 years my senior, but it works.

I take the spiral staircase past the second-floor restaurant until I reach the third-floor elevator. I scan my employee ID and step inside. The doors sweep closed behind me and up I go.

Cal’s penthouse is concocted from pure fantasy. Ornate, opulent, over the top, and filled with everything the king of the Knightley Company needs to run his kingdom, it’s never quiet. Even now, when I step off the elevator into his foyer, I hear voices filtering down from the living room. He uses the main part of the penthouse to run day-to-day operations. There are always executives and managers running in and out.

The walls of the long, wide foyer are covered in renderings and early architectural blueprints of the park. There are framed chicken-scratch notes of would-be roller coasters and hastily drawn character concepts that all eventually came to life in one way or another. These little pieces of Fairytale Kingdom’s past would sell at auction for millions of dollars, and yet, here they hang, right at my fingertips.

Cal’s booming voice carries to where I stand and I smile and move along, finally spotting him at the large bank of windows that face directly down Castle Drive—his usual spot. It’s a view few in the world have been lucky enough to see.

I nod to the other people in the room—all of whom I know by face, if not by name—and walk over to Cal. He tips his head in greeting and continues his discussion with the Head of Food and Beverage. I know better than to interrupt while he’s putting out a fire. Instead, I glance out the window and take in the park. In the area around Elena’s Castle, everything is designed to look like a medieval French village transformed in colorful pastel hues. Red cobblestone paths lead past small cottages housing gift shops. A smithery churns out toy swords. An apothecary shop sells fruit juice disguised as various tinctures and potions. Restaurants fill to capacity while barmaids and singers spill out onto the street. The manicured lawns are green and dotted with topiaries carefully carved into lifelike knights and their steeds. The street itself is lined with black lanterns and hanging planters. Vendors sell hot dogs and balloons and ice cream and handheld bubble machines. Though the sounds don’t carry, I can imagine the hum of the park. Even this late in the evening, Fairytale Kingdom is alive, and every square inch seems to be filled by guests. From where I stand, they look like ants.