Page 7 of Make Me Bee-lieve

I shake my head. “Nah, that’s fine. I’ll be there.”

What else am I going to do on a Friday night, anyway?

POLINA

“Bring me the golden antennae clasps. The ones with the ruby inlays,” I command my handmaiden, whose name I’ve already forgotten, watching as the young fae hurries to my vanity to grab my jewelry. These golden antennae clasps were a gift from my late mother when I reached my twentieth year, and I haven’t worn them since … since she left us. Left me.

But now that I am reaching my thirtieth summer and, finally, my maiden flight, it feels appropriate to don them. My handmaiden returns to her place behind me where I sit in front of the mirror, staring at my perfect reflection.

Utter perfection. That is what I am.

Unlike my handmaiden, with her plain facial features and sallow skin, I am and have always been a vision. With thick, furry black legs and an even thicker abdomen that sways with each step, I am everything a future queen should be. Healthy. Strong. Well-endowed. No one in the hive even comes remotely close to my beauty, but that’s how it should be. Everyone in the Sugardove hive, the only one of its kind in the city, has their place. Foragers, drones, knights.

But there is only one queen, and in only two weeks, she will be me.

Most of the bee fae in the hive are shorter than I am, with slender bodies and high cheekbones. We all wear half-masks when in each other’s company so that we can tell each other apart. My handmaidens wear beige masks with diamonds in the corners of the eyes. Understated, yet regal enough to befit their station. My mask, on the other hand, is resplendent with myriad different-colored jewels to reflect my position as a princess.

“Your Highness, allow me,” the handmaiden behind me says in a low buzz, and carefully sets to snapping the clasps into place on my antennae. Click, click. She steps to the side and watches me with almond-shaped black eyes. “Is there anything else I can assist you with this morning?” she asks.

With my black-satin-gloved fingers, I touch the golden clasps as I inspect myself in the mirror. “No, this is perfect. You are dismissed.” I drop all four of my arms down to my sides and wait for my handmaiden to hurry up and remove herself from my presence.

With a final curtsey, she retreats from my quarters. The amber glow of the room soothes my nerves as I continue to stare at my own reflection, but it’s not enough to quell the nausea rising up the back of my throat. Sooner or later, I’m going to have to leave the safety of my room and go down to the throne room to receive the morning report. But all I want to do is curl up in bed for another few hours and regain precious, lost sleep.

Unfortunately, that is not an option. A princess must always be ready for the day, no matter how little sleep she has had.

Drawing in a grounding breath, I push myself up to stand. My abdomen drags across the floor as I turn in front of the mirror, examining first my left side, then my right, to make sure nothing is out of place. One of my gloves is slipping down my arm, so I give it a little tug.

There. Perfect. I gather up the gilded skirts of my petticoats that match the golden tone of my skin and make my way to the large hexagonal door of my chambers. The corners of the door drip with sweet, floral-scented honey. I rap on it three times with my knuckles. The door slides open, and I step out into the hallway to be immediately joined by my personal guard, Ser Beatrix.

The tall, willowy woman’s mask is similar to my own, with a few caveats: instead of a frame made of gold, hers is silver, with flowers etched into the sides. Ser Beatrix is always ready for me in the mornings, clad in silver armor befitting the captain of the knights. She blinks at me with her dark, glossy eyes slowly before dropping to one knee.

“Your Highness. Good morning. Are you ready to be escorted to breakfast?”

I shake my head. “Rise. And no, I am skipping breakfast this morning, Ser Beatrix. You may escort me to the throne room instead.”

Ser Beatrix rises on command, but quirks a bushy black brow at me. “Your Highness?”

I narrow my gaze at her. “Are you questioning me?”

“N-No, of course not, Your Highness. Never. It’s just that…” Ser Beatrix lifts a silver-clad hand to her mouth and clears her throat. “Your well-being is important to the hive, and a nutritious breakfast is part of that.”

Groaning, I lift my skirts and push past her. “Oh, very well. A quick stop to the main dining hall, then.”

My majordomo strides into the throne room moments after me, flanked by her own pair of knights. She’s always been a beautiful woman, with striking features that give even me a run for my honey. Her thin, angular nose makes her face look refined, although she doesn’t look like me. On my own face, in place of high cheekbones are softer features given to me by my late mother—and instead of the gorgeous black eyes my mother gifted me and my sisters, Majordomo Elza’s eyes are the color of midnight. When she tilts her face in the light, you can see traces of the purples and blues that light up like a field of night-blooming flowers. “You look like a larva still in their brood cell,” Aunt Elza always tells me. “A pity you had to inherit your mother’s signature babyish features.”

She takes a step toward me, closing the distance between us, and runs her gloved fingers along the set of russet braids my handmaiden put in for me earlier.

“These make you look like a child,” she says as she walks around me in a slow, appraising circle. Our morning routine. How I loathe it. She’s not my real aunt, of course, because if she were, my mother would have killed her the moment she emerged from her brood cell. She’s my aunt in title only; a majordomo who’s been overseeing the things I cannot until I take my maiden flight and ascend the throne.

Two more weeks of this, I remind myself. Only two more, and then I will finally be free of her. Which she doesn’t know, yet, because I haven’t told her that I plan on dissolving her title the moment I step into mine.

“Aunt,” I say cooly, dipping my head by way of greeting as she stops in front of me.

Elza looks me up and down with a sour expression on her lips, no doubt finding the rest of my appearance lacking as well. Not unusual for her. She’s never taken a liking to me, for whatever reason. I’ve always chalked it up to a personality mismatch, but in truth, I’m not sure why we don’t get along. We’ve never fought. Never had any strong disagreements. We’ve barely even spoken to one another outside of moments such as these.

Despite her unpleasant attitude, she’s always dispensed decent enough advice, which is why I’ve suffered her presence as long as I have. She’s been in her role far longer than I’ve been alive, in fact. Once upon at time, she was my great-grandmother’s majordomo. How old Aunt Elza truly is, no one even knows, and I’ve never cared enough to ask. All that matters is the safety and continued productivity of the hive. Nothing else.

“Your Highness,” she says, then clucks her tongue as she grabs my shoulder and forces me to turn around. I utter a dark oath to myself as my wings twitch against my back. “You look like a tart. This won’t do. We must get you changed. Immediately. Who put you in this gaudy, flimsy thing?”

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