Page 9 of Make Me Bee-lieve

“By the sun, what’s to become of us?” I utter under my breath. I look up at the ceiling just as the hive is jostled again, and I nearly topple to the floor.

POLINA

Hours later, the hive finally stops moving, and my people huddle together in the middle of the throne room. Some cry and wail, others merely sit with stoic expressions and curse the sun. I sit on the honeycomb throne, one leg over the other, as I gnaw on my bottom lip. My fiancé, Florian, buzzes around the room like the nuisance he is, screaming about the end times and how everything we’ve built is about to come crumbling down.

If only his personality weren’t so grating, Florian could be considered handsome, with his long, strong legs and lean arms with just the right amount of fur on them. His high cheekbones are the envy of the hive, and the intricate braids in his hair rival that of anything my own handmaidens can do.

But he’s awful, so any admiration I have for him dies on the surface level.

I’m not sure why he’s screaming. In two weeks he’ll be dead, anyway. His only role in our society is to mate with me and die immediately upon consummation.

A part of me wishes I could mate with him right now, if only to silence him permanently.

“Florian, enough,” I command.

Florian wails at the ceiling as tears continue to slip from beneath his cobalt mask. “Your Highness, we must vacate the hive and search for a new place to settle!” he screams from across the chambers, his voice echoing throughout the room. Some of my other subjects tremble as he passes. He’s getting them far too worked up. “We must flee to the trees!”

I roll my eyes and drill my fingernails against my throne’s armrests. “And be eaten by the spiders, you mean.”

His jaw snaps shut.

“That’s what I thought. No. We are to remain here. This hive has remained in the royal family for dozens of generations. We will not abandon it simply because something … exciting is happening.”

“Exciting, pah!” Florian spits and waves a hand flippantly. “We are all going to die, and you are waiting around for it to happen!”

I look out at the sea of worried faces, and my throat tightens. Is that what I’m doing? Waiting around for the guillotine to drop? My instincts, strong as ever, tell me to remain calm and stay put. To soothe my people inside this room where I can keep a close eye on them.

The audience chamber is large enough to house every fae who lives within the hive, though it’s a tight squeeze. With its high walls made entirely of dripping honeycomb and its gorgeous, golden tile flooring, it’s not exactly built for comfort. It was created so I could sit on the throne, hear the concerns of my people, and send them on their way. It’s not meant for so many bodies to be piled on top of one another for long periods of time, that’s for certain.

“No. I believe the worst is behind us,” I say in a low voice. “But I don’t want anyone to leave this room yet.”

The buzzing within the chamber is so deafening I can scarcely hear my own thoughts.

“I can’t stand this anymore,” Aunt Elza says as she descends the rose-colored carpeted stairs. “We need to get everyone out of here and back into their own quarters before this becomes a tragedy.”

I squeeze my eyes shut. Two more weeks, Polina. You can do this. “No. Did you not hear what I just said? I want everyone to remain here until I know it’s safe. I sent scouts to?—”

“And I’m saying this is going to be a terrible start to your reign, Your Highness,” Aunt Elza snaps, cutting me off.

Ser Beatrix growls as she steps forward, but I shake my head and put my arm out to stop her. “That’s not for you to decide, Aunt. Everyone. Stays. Here.” My eyes narrow, daring Elza to challenge my authority a second time.

She doesn’t. Instead, she lets out a miffed little huff and ascends the stairs to stand beside me like a petulant child, her arms crossed in front of her chest. “It’s your reputation at stake, not mine,” she whispers.

I twist around to hit her with a glare and open my mouth to argue, but the hive jostles again. The walls quake, and booming voices speak from overhead.

“We’re all set,” a woman’s voice says. “Let me just smoke them first before I run you through the basics.”

Everyone in the room screams, including me. Aunt Elza flies down the stairs to escape through one of the side doors, but it’s too late. The room floods with thick, white smoke. My heart hammers against my ribcage as I let out a blood-curdling cry, and then the room falls silent.

When I gaze out at the room full of my subjects, I notice a strange smile creep across their faces before they slump down into a stupor. No, no, not the smoke. I hate it when they drug us. I hate it when?—

The gas wafts through the air and invades my lungs, and I suck in a deep breath, wondering if I can outlast it. But the clean air is replaced by the smoke, and soon, only visions of flowers—so many flowers—dance before my eyes. Fields of lavender and sunflowers, warm sunlight, and hazy summer afternoons that bring a smile to my face.

I slump back against the throne and drift off into a dreamless slumber.

I wake in my bed to darkness. Whoever brought me into my personal quarters took the time to tuck me between the flower-petal bed covers. When I sit upright, my wings scream in pain as I try, and fail, to move them. I obviously didn’t tuck them against my back correctly before falling asleep, and now they’re stiff and refusing to go back into place.

Rubbing the remnants of sleep from my eyes, I’m about to get out of bed and head to my private washroom to freshen up when a soft, masculine voice murmurs from somewhere outside. “Hey, bees,” the man says.

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