Total pages in book: 121
Estimated words: 117920 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 590(@200wpm)___ 472(@250wpm)___ 393(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 117920 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 590(@200wpm)___ 472(@250wpm)___ 393(@300wpm)
Then again, I don’t read the Danish tabloids so I have no idea if we’re even featured in them or not. I can’t imagine why. There’s nothing exciting about two little girls and their nanny, princesses or not.
Now, if Aksel were here, well then I could see that being a different story. In fact, that’s one reason why I don’t pick up the tabloids if he’s being featured. I may not understand Danish, but I don’t think what they’re saying is always nice. It must be so hard to not only be a king at such a young (relatively) age but to lose your beloved queen as well. Aksel seems to be fodder for them and is never held in the same regard as Helena was.
Still, I assure Henrik that I’ll be fine and I grab the girls both by the hand and lead them into the park.
“So what are your favorite rides?” I ask them as we approach the ticket booth.
“Dragebådene,” says Freja.
“Minen!” shouts Clara.
“Ballongyngen.”
“Den Flyvende Kuffert!”
I don’t understand what any of those are but I’m sure I’ll find out soon.
We pay for our tickets—the girl working the booth immediately recognizing the princesses—and we step inside the chaos of the park. Actually, it’s not that bad. Maybe because it’s getting late in the season but it’s definitely not as crazy crowded as Disneyland Paris.
The girls immediately start dragging me in different directions, past loop-de-loop coasters and Japanese pagodas and Arabian palaces and giant pirate ships. My stomach growls at the sights and smells of all the tasty treats but I manage to eat my scone to keep it in check.
First we go on the “Ballongyngen” which is just a fancy word for ferris wheel. Usually I hate ferris wheels because they’re claustrophobic and boring, but this is in an open hot air balloon, and it doesn’t go very high. After that we work our way to the Karavanen, a little roller coaster that’s a surprising amount of fun. The girls sit together in the compartment in front of me, and the attendant, recognizing who I am, I guess, lets me sit by myself behind them.
But this is the beginning of a problem I didn’t see coming.
Going to an amusement park with an odd number is difficult when most rides only let two sit together. We go to the “Dragebådene” which are self-piloted dragon boats, and I can’t drive one around while leaving the other child on shore and they both can’t do it themselves. The same goes for some of the bigger rides and roller coasters. The only rides the two of them can go on by themselves are the kiddie ones and that’s starting to piss Clara off more and more by the minute.
“But I’m not a little baby,” she cries out to me, stamping her foot as we watch people get on her favorite rollercoaster. “When we were here last, we were able to go on all the rides!”
Freja says something to her in Danish in a low voice, her lower lip pouting.
“What was that?” I ask, leaning in.
“She said it was because Papa and Mama were here with us!” Clara practically yells, her face growing red. “Now she’s gone and he won’t come and we have nothing!”
Oh my god. Is she about to have a public meltdown?
I put my hands on Clara’s shoulders. “Listen, we’re still having a good time. We still went on the flying trunk ride and the mine ride that you like and the Viking carousel and—”
“No!” she cries out, ripping away from me and running to the front of the line, starting to yell at the ride operator. “Jeg er prinsessen, jeg skal med på turen!”
Everyone in line is both wide-eyed and submissive, immediately stepping back and out of the way to let her go in front.
I grab Clara’s arm as gently as I can and try to pull her away. “You see the sign, you can’t go by yourself, and I can’t leave Freja behind.” I’m pleading with her now not to make a scene but I know it’s too late. She’s making one. Everyone can hear what she’s saying and, worse, I see cameras and phones out, snapping her picture, probably even recording it.
“Do you mind?” I turn around and yell at the crowd. “This little girl might be a princess but she’s still a little girl who lost her mother. If you post any of that, we will sue you!”
“Yeah, sue you,” Freja interjects, pointing her finger at them.
Finally, Clara gives in and lets me drag her away. I manage to get her around the corner from the crowd and then drop to my knees to look at her, my hands on her shoulders keeping her in place. “Clara, please, you know you can’t act like this.”
“I can do whatever I want,” she sniffs, wiping the lone tear that’s falling from her eye. “I’m a princess and I’m going to be a queen someday.”