The Dog Princess: A Tom Holland Fairy Tale

The Social Season

A tall and dashing prince, almost king, stood before a massive crowd of his people, beaming a flashy, regal smile as he waved to them safely atop his fortress. A rush flew through him as he basked in the glory, elated to announce his most anticipated decree. "It is time! My people, you may soon have the queen you deserve! Let the social season begin!"

The eruption of cheers and banging rang throughout the square and the streets, the sound shaking through the palace and the surrounding city. "Long live Prince Timothée!" The rumbling jubilation hit the stables with a jarring severity, deeply disturbing the horses.

"Woah—woah take it easy! Take it easy!" Harrison, a servant to the crown, tried desperately to calm them, but a few were still bucking in confusion. "Tom! Tom! A little help if you please? Now!"

Tom, also a servant, sprung up from his seat near the window, the cry ripping himself from his daydream. He put down the hunk of wood he was absentmindedly carving, and went to Harrison's aid. He sighed as he put his hand on the nose of one of the horses, instantly calming it as if his touch were magic. "That's right, girl. That's a sweet girl."

"Thanks mate. Wish that would've worked when I tried it..." Harrison trailed off, grateful for the help but annoyed that Tom made it look so simple.

"Don't feel bad, it's nothing. So...what do you think of the social season?" Tom asked wistfully.

Harrison scoffed. "The social season? I never understood why it takes prince face-a-lot an entire summer of flaunting his fortune to attempt to choose a bride. If it were me, a simple dinner would suffice. Maybe even a little waltz for good measure." Harrison wrapped his arms around an invisible dance partner, prancing in a little circle mockingly while humming a famous tune that he still butchered the melody of.

Tom sighed. "But don't you think it could be fun? All those parties—and all those princesses just begging to talk to you—"

"Thomas, Thomas, Thomas, you sweet, stupid bloke. We have the same thing—but better! It's called the female servants quarters! Except even they won't talk to us..." Harrison ran a hand through his greasy locks in defeat.

"I can't imagine trying to court so many ladies at once. How would you give them all equal attention? Or rather how would you spare their feelings if they weren't the one you wanted to choose? Or—"

"Don't tire yourself, you don't have the burden of choosing. And I'm sure our charming prince perfect curls will let them all down easy. Just like last time and the time before—" Harrison scowled. 

"You should be more careful of how you speak of the prince. You know how he is." Tom warned Harrison, who's tongue was often too sharp for his own good.

"I'll be kind when he deserves my kindness. Speaking of the royal ass, let's get these horses ready. I wouldn't want to be us if one of those princesses complained about her race horse smelling like a horse." With that, he grabbed a nearby wooden bucket and headed toward the well, leaving Tom pondering. Daydreaming again:

Fanfare, cheers, and a shining crown a top his head. A huge smile on his face, and all those around for miles smiling back at him. A belly that wasn't aching, and a heart far from feeling broken.

"His Royal Highness, Prince Thomas, has come to a decision! He will now choose his bride!" A herald shouted into the crowd.

"I choose..." Tom started, trying to imagine his dream girl. He opened his eyes, not having much inspiration. It was better his head stay out of the clouds, or else he risked getting into trouble. But he couldn't help it; sometimes he just needed to fly off the ground and pretend for a moment. But every time it hurt to land right back where he was again.