Page 27 of Make Me Bee-lieve

Gentle string music pours throughout the room, played by the three musicians Aunt Elza hired, while dozens of couples dance. All in all, the ball is going as well as could be expected, despite the murmurings about my inappropriate attire and hair. My hair, which I gathered into intricate braids along the sides of my head, looks decent enough. But it isn’t enough to deter the gossip, unfortunately. I sit at the banquet table beside Aunt Elza, who is glaring at me so hard I am liable to turn into a pile of ash at any moment.

“What? Spit it out,” I snap. I’m not in the mood for her special flavor of criticism this evening. And I haven’t even seen Calvin yet. Where is he? I crane my neck, trying to see past the floating couples on the ballroom floor. Is he lost? Did he change his mind and decide not to come after all? My heart twists at the thought.

Aunt Elza grabs my wrist and squeezes it. Hard. “What was so wrong with your dress that you decided to wear something that makes you look like a slut at your very own coronation ball?” she hisses, low enough so that only I can hear.

My eyes widen at her audacity. I try to wriggle free from her grip, but she’s unrelenting and won’t let me go. “Stop this at once. You’re hurting me.”

She rolls her eyes. “Oh, please, Your Highness. I believe someone needs to have a harder grip on you from time to time, lest you forget yourself and what you represent. Your dress is an abomination, and you should feel ashamed of yourself.”

“Who should feel ashamed of themselves?” Florian’s voice drawls from behind us. He leans in between us and tuts gently. “My, my. Being scolded like a common larvae, are we? My dear, what did you do to upset your hard-working majordomo this time?”

I’m about to respond when the whiff of something delicious and musky passes my nostrils. My pupils dilate, and the hairs on my shoulders and arms stand on end. Thankfully, neither my fiancé nor Aunt Elza notice. Those pheromones. Calvin is nearby.

I hadn’t noticed them before, not until … not until I orgasmed in the library. I’d heard from my mother that when a fae is ready to mate, she can smell her chosen’s pheromones more keenly. That must be it. When I came on Calvin’s hand, it must have triggered my innate instincts. Interesting.

“Excuse me,” I say, and push my chair from the table to stand up. But Florian puts his hands on my shoulders and forces me back down. “F-Florian. Stop that. Let me go at once.”

“You aren’t excused from the table, I’m afraid, my dear,” he coos in a sickly sweet voice that sounds vaguely venomous. “Stay. Chat with us. I like your dress, by the way. It’s very … provocative.”

I don’t miss the way he says provocative. It’s enough to make me want to hurl honey up all over his shoes. “Move. This is an order,” I say again, more firmly this time.

“Let her go, Florian,” Aunt Elza says with a dismissive hand flap. “If she wants to tart up the crown and make a fool of us all, who are we to stop her? I’m only the royal advisor and have been for the previous three monarchs. What do I know?”

I glare at her. “How dare you speak that way in front of your princess? Perhaps it’s you who has forgotten her place.”

Aunt Elza’s golden-tinged lips curl into a malicious sneer. “Oh, no, Princess. It’s not I who has forgotten their place, I assure you.”

What does that mean?

Never mind. I need to get away from these two before I wind up doing something I’ll truly regret. I push away from the table and flee into the crowd of buzzing bees, bumping into their abdomens along the way. I slip past several rubber-necking courtiers who can’t help but murmur about my dress as I make my way in to one of the small alcoves on the other side of the room.

I haven’t spotted Calvin yet, but I know he’s here. In the darkened space behind the burgundy curtain, I sit on one of the benches and inhale deeply. By the sun. What’s happening here? I’ve never gotten along with Aunt Elza or Florian before, but they’re being extra insufferable this evening. Then the tears come so quickly I scarcely have a moment to stop them.

When I bury my face in my gloves to weep quietly in peace, I don’t even notice there’s someone looming over me until it’s too late.

“Po?” a familiar voice rasps, and when I lift my head, my heart swells. Calvin crouches down in front of me and pulls my hands away from my face to hold them gently. “Are you okay? Why are you alone in here, crying?”

His hair is slicked and parted to one side, and his black suit is tailored to perfection. The bowtie is a nice touch, too. He’s still wearing his usual pair of glasses, but I like them. They make him look intelligent. Dignified.

“I-It’s nothing,” I lie.

His expression softens, and he lifts his hand to brush his fingers against my cheek. His skin is so, so warm. Humans are incredibly soft and warm in all the ways my people are not. My heart races in my chest as I wonder briefly what it would feel like to have that perfect mouth of his between my thighs. For once, I don’t scold myself for having those thoughts. Instead, I entertain them—let them color my cheeks and bring a soft smile to my face until he’s peering at me askance.

“What? What’s so funny?” he asks, mimicking my smile. “Is there something on my face?”

“No,” I say quickly. “No, your face is perfect. You look very handsome.”

Calvin responds by lifting his hand to stroke a tendril of lavender-colored hair that’s slipped out of my braids. “I like this color on you. It’s beautiful,” he murmurs. “Lilacs are my favorite flower.”

“Oh.” I blink. “You like it? It was done purely through carelessness, I assure you.”

He smirks. “Yes, I like it. It suits you. It’s more whimsical this way, I think. Just like you.”

I let out choked laughter as more tears slip down my cheeks. But now I’m not sure why I’m crying. Because of the stress? Because I’ve finally fallen apart? Or perhaps because, yes, I have fallen apart, but Calvin is now here with me, picking up the pieces?

“I was looking for you,” he says. “But you weren’t at the table. I wanted to ask you for a dance. If you’re allowed to dance with me, that is.”

My heart melts at the thought of being led onto the dance floor by him. Being held by him as he sways me across the ballroom for everyone to see. “I would love that,” I say. “Then I would truly feel like a princess.”

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