Worple the Cherubic rocked back and forth on the river bank, his eyes fixed on the ancient Entry Arch. Any time now, he told himself, and he’d be entering the Realm as the King’s Grin. Ever since he popped out of his mother’s womb whistling and farting the National Opera while exhibiting the toothless joy of the congenitally vacuous, he had been told this was his destiny. He had been patient, spending his youth at the age specific smile Eisteddfods, winning some and only failing to place when suffering from chronic abortive driplonzenges that caused his smiles to snark at inopportune moments.

A fairy from HR floated condescendingly through the arch and headed for Worple. ‘Are you here for the Grin?’

Worple let his famed happiness shine through every pore. The fairy scoffed, ‘Save it for His Maj, sonny. I’ve seen more convincing smiles on a tomato salad. You really called Worple?’

‘The Cherubic.’

‘Pushy parents, eh?’

Worple thought about being offended and decided to save it. He could terminate this gossamer gopher when he had the Royal Ear. ‘They saw an opportunity early.’

‘It won’t help you know? Just because all holders of the King’s Grin are renamed Worple the Whatever Takes His Royal Fancy doesn’t mean you get any sort of head start. Could be seen as being a mite too keen, you know?’

‘Are you part of the interview panel?’

The fairy looked up from where he was scribbling on a clipboard. ‘Me? Nah. I’m too nice, me. Let anyone through. No, you get to convince Princess Persiflage. Get a smile out of her and you’re in. Mind you she’s sixteen, fancies herself cool and hip so,’ two hard black eyes scanned Worple, ‘I’d say your chances sit somewhere between zip and buggerall. Come on. Can you walk on water?’

The fairy didn’t wait for a response, floating back above the torrent through the arch to the Inner Sanctum.

Fifteen minutes later, Worple sat on one side of an office mushroom while a sallow skinny girl dressed in what looked like dead moss faced him. She sucked on a buttercup full of something green and smoking and sniffed. ‘Go on then, make me smile.’

Worple folded his arms and stared back, his smile remaining steady if on the unshowy side of sycophantic. ‘I can’t.’

The princess stopped and goggled. ‘You can’t? Well…’ she began to laugh and caught herself, wagging a finger at him. ‘Ha! Clever, mister but don’t think I’m that easy.’

‘Can’t blame me for trying, can you?’

‘Seriously, dude, why come if you’re not going to try?’

Worple’s own smile grew, releasing enough wattage to heat the Royal Household if only they knew how to capture it. ‘See, Princess, you and I know that you’ve spent your life to date ensuring you can scowl to order, render yourself utterly and unreconciably miserable in a heart beat and generally dictate the mood of the Royal House at your whim. Yes?’

Persiflage tilted her head on one side, clearly engaged. ‘Go on.’

‘And you’ve not done that because you are mistreated or depressed or lacking friends.’

‘True.’

‘So it is merely to ensure that, when you know you really want something which His Maj won’t let you have, you can drag everyone down into your chosen dumps until you get your way.’

‘I couldn’t comment.’

‘But see, as an outside observer who has studied the Royal Dynamic and read about some recent, dare I suggest failures on your part to get your way…’

‘You’re on rocky ground mister…’

‘… it seems to me the strategy could, perhaps do with an upgrade. A two pronged attack.’

There was a slurping while Worple held his breath. Persiflage sniffed again, ‘Try me.’

‘Seems to me you need someone who is the antithesis of you. A smiling sunny side kind of chap, who dresses like a rainbow but who has the King’s Ear. This person would be the last one who the King would consider could see your point of view, a moody, self indulgent, mean spirited, small minded…’

‘Yes, alright…’

‘If it happens this person owed you, then that person might be able to sell the idea of whatever it was you wanted before you had to take drastic action.’

‘And that person is you?’

‘Just smile. No thanks are needed.’

Twenty minutes later the fairy floated next to Worple as they headed for the Royal Wardrobe for him to be fitted with his Joy Robes. ‘Didn’t think you had it in you. What’s the secret?’

‘Oh, it’s easy really. If you want to get on in the Happiness business, then underneath you really do have to be a ruthless calculating bastard.’

The fairy nodded. ‘You’ll fit in just fine.’

This was written in response to Sue Vincent’s recent #writephoto prompt here..