The Dog Princess: A Tom Holland Fairy Tale

Do Anything

"Rosemary, wake up."  The words felt so dreamy and far away, but Rosemary's eyelids were finally able to lift, with her once again drowsily looking around until she set eyes on Timothée sitting on the edge of the bed. "I hope you feel well rested. Your father would like to see you if you feel up to it."

Timothée leaned in a little closer to her, looking down at her disheveled yet altogether gorgeous state. He mustered up a slight smile, although not much other than kind words from her could possibly lift his spirits. But he would be a fool to hope for that. She began to sit up, and he shyly took her hand and supported her back to help her. She didn't protest as she still felt quite weak, possibly from sleeping too much. "I need to get dressed." She finally said, blankly staring.

"Of course. Should I send someone to help you?"

"Yes. Thank you." She replied, and Timothée swiftly got up to give the order. After a moment, he returned and sat on the bed next to her once more. He took her hand again, this time just to test her affections. She did not move away, but her hand was limp, lifeless even. Something in him snapped, longing for reciprocation.

"Can I ask you something?" He looked at her while she stared at nothing, almost in a trance.

"I don't see why not. I have to do whatever you say."

"Rosemary I—" He stuttered, but quickly composed himself. "I just want to know...what can I do? What can I do to make you happy?"

She was silent a moment, but it was as loud as thunder in his ears. Finally she spoke up, sparing him the agony of waiting, but not his feelings. "Let me go."

His heart began to pound as held her hand even tighter, resisting the very thought of her request. "How can I make you happy with me—"

"You can't." She replied softly, but no matter how soft the blow, it felt like the twist of a knife.

Timothée turned away from her, feeling his eyes fill with more burning tears he resented. He let go of her hand and roughly wiped his face, biting back a sob. In his sorrow, he questioned everything aloud. "Why? I don't understand—I really tried. I did and said so much that I never had before, and I feel like you didn't even try! Why—why couldn't you just—just—try to love me!"

Ping. How strange what the curse considers a command. Without being able to think, Rosemary quickly grabbed his tear-streaked face, pulling him in. Their lips crashed together, much to Timothée's surprise. He didn't even close his eyes he was so shocked, quickly realizing this couldn't be of her own free will. As fast as he could, trying his best to ignore the wave of heat that had come over him, he pulled away holding her back by the shoulders.

"Rosemary—stop—" He ordered, releasing her from the spell. She felt immediate relief with his new command, completely astonished by her own actions, as well as by the regret in Timothée's eyes. He quickly removed his hands from her, seemingly afraid to touch her now more than ever before. "Rosemary, I'm so sorry—did that happen because of something I said—"

She sighed, giving him a reassuring gaze. "The curse has always been finicky like that. It happens all the time."

"But—I feel like I violated you—"

"The curse has always been violating. Now more than ever. It seems now I can't even choose to be a dog if I needed to refuse—"

"Rosemary...I'm so sorry." Timothée stared at her a moment, unsure of what he was about to do. "You were out cold when the witch—Elizabeth—cast the new spell on you. By my request." He looked at her shamefully, but she looked at him with an unchanged expression, as if she expected as much. She waited a moment as he gathered the courage to say more. He took in a shallow breath hoping to calm his heart, to no avail. "I know you'll doubt me heavily, but you can break the curse by marrying me."

"What?" She furrowed her brow in confusion.

"That was her way to smite me. She knew you'd never stay with me without a curse to hold you captive. And she's right. I'll never win your heart. Not while he's alive." Timothée replied crestfallen. "If you wish to see him before his sentence is carried out...you may."

"What sentence...?" She asked trembling, although she knew.

Timothée tactfully avoided the word, but nodded his head. "Just say the word, and I'll take you down myself. I won't stay...I couldn't watch." His eyes fell to the floor. "I must warn you, he's—"

"Take me to him. I don't care what's been done to him, I must see him!" She rose from her bed, pulling on one of the prince's red robes she picked up off a nearby chair over her nightgown. She smoothed her hair in a nearby mirror before eagerly awaiting Timothée to lead her out.

With a heavy sadness in his eyes, he led her down the dreary steps into the dungeon where he had been just the day before. He suddenly worried about the state he left Tom in, hoping that surely he was still alive. People are harder to kill than one might think, but not always. Timothée banished the guards away for the rest of the evening to ensure complete privacy. It would be a great embarrassment to him and his father's throne if anyone knew of him allowing Rosemary to be with Tom, even just for a few moments. When he reached the heavy wooden door, he took the large iron key off the hook on the stone wall, then turned to her with a sullen, guilty expression. "I'll be back in the morning."

"Wait. Don't leave yet." She said urgently as he began to turn the key. "I may need something—"

"I told you...I can't watch. I won't—"

"Then please stay by the door. Just a moment."

He sighed, hardly able to resist her pleading gaze. "Fine. But please be quick with your demands. I won't stay long."

Unexpectedly she embraced him, wrapping her arms around his neck in a short, grateful exchange. He brushed off the brief feeling of ecstasy, having received something real for the first time. He turned the key, knowing her appreciation for him would soon die when she laid her eyes upon her lover. He sat right where Timothée had left him, hunched over the post with his hands tightly bound, his blood stained shirt hanging off of him in pieces. His eyes were closed, but he was breathing, seemingly asleep. The long, jagged cut across his face had dripped blood all the way down his neck, crusted over in dry, crumbling crimson. Timothée's heart sank as she slowly approached him, looking over his back at the fresh lashes, that unbeknownst to her, Tom endured at his hand. She quietly knelt down by his face, and he began to stir. She reached out and tousled his hair very gently, afraid any touch would cause him pain. He moaned softly, his eyelids lifting slowly. It took a moment for his vision to come into focus, but once it did he surely thought he was dreaming. "...Rosemary? Is that really you?" He stammered, hardly able to speak.

"Of course it's me." She shushed him, worried about how much pain he was in. She turned to Timothée, almost stumbling over her words herself. "I need—I need water. And something to clean these lashes with—and I don't know—I don't know something that could help them heal. Please. I'll do anything." She said with the deepest sincerity, almost as if she were offering herself to him.

Timothée, as guilty as he felt with her seeing what he'd done, was hesitant, especially due to her desperation. But he wanted to make her happy, even if it was irrational. "I'll send for a medic. It'll be done right."

"Thank you!" She said earnestly, before turning back to Tom. She tenderly kissed his forehead, causing Timothée to turn away feeling sick. He ran up the stairs to call for a medic as promised, his head reeling from what she might do while down there reunited with Tom. Once he was back in his chambers after giving those orders, he felt a horrid, dry feeling in his on the inside of his cheeks, his throat clenching. Before he knew it, found himself doubled over the window, vomiting his guts out. He shook from the sudden visceral reaction, feeling like he was cursed as well. He'd do anything for her—except let her go of course.