The Dog Princess: A Tom Holland Fairy Tale

The Witch Returns

"Something must be wrong! Why didn't he come?" Rosemary sobbed as the early morning sun drenched the room with an alarming brightness.

"I wish I knew, Rosemary." Zendaya tried her best to console her through her anger. How could he do this? He knew the urgency of the situation, and now they've only two days left before the curse rears it's ugly head.

"I have to find him—" Rosemary sniffled, getting up from bed. But suddenly there was a ominous knock on the door, a unusual knock that made their hearts sink with fear.

"Could that be him—" Zendaya wondered, hopeful.

Rosemary ran to the door and opened it, and all too quickly the relief she felt dissolved into disappointment. It was Timothée, and though at first she was unafraid, the aggressive guards around him made her nervous. He seemed smug as well, almost angry, with a knowing look in his eyes. "Rosemary, I require an audience with you."

Her mouth went dry and her palms began to sweat. She began to fidget with her dress, trying to discreetly dry her hands. "Of course. Whatever for?"

"Well, let's just say I sent for your father. To discuss our...plans." He took her hand, her dress falling back into place. He led her out into the hallway, the guards suspiciously staying behind. He led her all the way to the throne room, where her father King Benedict was waiting, along with King Robert, whom she had never met before.

"Well done, my boy! She's even more beautiful than you described." Robert exclaimed upon her entrance.

"Thank you, Robert. She gets it from her mother." Benedict fawned, full of pride as well as relief at his daughter being chosen.

Robert slyly whispered to him, "She is quite a beauty, although I couldn't care less so long as the boy finally picked someone."

"Hello, father." Rosemary greeted him cordially, trying not to let her nerves show through.

"Rosemary, you look troubled darling. Is something the matter?" Timothée inquired a little too knowingly.

"I'm just fine." She lied, he voice almost faltering. The room had gone cold and tense, causing goosebumps to prick up on the back of her neck.

"Oh, I know you better than that love. Tell me exactly what's troubling you." Timothée said, with a strange intensity but without much real care. King Benedict started to squirm, his eyes meeting with Rosemary's fearfully.

"You know—don't you—" Rosemary started, at almost a whisper, her throat so dry and the magic slowly starting to consume her.

"Rosemary—" Benedict frantically reached out for her, mortified at what might unfold in front of their soon to be in-laws.

"Tell me!" Timothée shouted suddenly, startling even his own father.

"Where is he??" Rosemary shouted back, and as a result the magic faded, falling around her ankles like sand and disappearing into the air.

Timothée stared at her, his eyes glossed over in a still, boiling rage. "So it is true then, Rosemary? The curse, the servant—all of it?"

"What is going on here?" Benedict demanded, firmly yet nervously. "Rosemary!"

"I tell you what's going on, Benedict. Guards!" Timothée shouted toward the double doors, and right on cue they burst open revealing two guards who aggressively dragged in a bruised and bloody Tom, throwing him to the ground on his knees right in front of Timothée. Rosemary gasped at the sight, as both his eyes were black and purple, a thick stream of blood had dripped from his nose and all the way down his chin. His lip was spilt, the wound crusted with old blood and still oozing with new as he winced in pain from the impact of his fall.