The Dog Princess: A Tom Holland Fairy Tale

Jealousy

The festivities for the day had ended, and a seemingly tranquil, blue evening had befallen the kingdom. There was a streak of pale orange tracing the horizon like a stray brushstroke, and below it on the green were speckles of servants taking down the white tents and folding the long white tablecloths. The fabric bloomed like sails, and Timothée imagined gliding through the sky's watercolors as he looked longingly out the windows. He moved slowly on his way down to the throne room, despondent, tracing the window panes with his finger as he past. He knew even the most picture perfect dusk such as this would be ruined by his summoning of Cassandra, but he couldn't let this go on. He also knew he'd feel better afterwards, and hoped to check up on Rosemary as soon as it was done. Perhaps he could save the day with a moonlit walk? He feared he'd spend the night behind her walls in the passage instead, afraid of facing her. No woman made him so nervous before. On the opposite end of things, no woman made him as nauseous as Cassandra did. He pondered which was more impressive as he pushed through the heavy wooden doors of the throne room. Cassandra was already there when he arrived, having been escorted gently by two guards. He tried to ignore her pathetic wave and scarily wide smile as he marched up to his gleaming throne. The glory of the throne contrasted greatly with his worn down expression; he sat with an exasperated plop, unable to bite back his harsh tone.

"Please wipe that look off your face. You can't possibly think it's for good reason I called you here." Timothée sighed as he slumped into his grand chair, already annoyed before she could say a word.

Her expression never wavered, and she began to curtsy. "Your Highness I—"

"Oh, save it, Cassandra. Any chance you have a clue? Pray tell me why you're here!" His temper ignited, beginning a slow burn.

Finally her face fell, setting into a defensive, stony glare. Her hold onto hope was slipping. "I'm not certain I can."

Timothée leaned forward in his seat, staring intensely into her. "I consider myself reasonable, but you have crossed a line. Stiff competition and nerves are to be expected in such a contest, but I will not tolerate harassment or your rude, saboteur behavior! Not towards me, my staff, and especially not towards the other princesses! As I'm sure you noticed Rosemary was absent from today's festivities—"

"But—" She squeaked out.

"You will remain silent when I am speaking!" He barked, rising from his chair. With every word he drew closer and closer to her, until he hissed his final words right in her face. "It is from my understanding that you were the cause, and have been the cause of other disruptions as well. From this point forward you are to stay in line, obey my orders, and act as a princess should. You may remain in this contest strictly for appearances, for I won't shame your father and your kingdom so. But mark my words, you will never be my queen, understood?"

"Yes, your Majesty." She replied shakily, fighting back the tears.

"One more incident and I will send you shamefully packing! Do you understand?!" He screamed in her face.

"Yes your Majesty—" She whimpered, turning away complete frightened.

"Guards, get her out of my sight!" He commanded, breaking away from her as she collapsed into the arms of the guards that brought her in. They dragged her out of the room, and once her sobs faded into silence he let out a huge sigh of relief. Looking out a nearby window, he saw the dusk was fading as were his hopes for an encounter with his prize. His courage had been used up, but while he wasn't up for facing her he still wanted nothing more than to show his affections. Without a second thought, Timothée rushed over to the courtyard right outside the palace. There were still many servants running around cleaning up the party, and he went in search of one to send Rosemary a bouquet. It was mostly an apology for what had occurred that day, but also another excuse to send his love.