Page 8 of Make Me Bee-lieve

I love this dress. I’ve always adored the way it makes me feel like the fae princess that I am, with its billowy golden skirts that flutter in the wind when I fly, and the tight-fitting corset top that makes my breasts look … well, perfect. But I can see why she’d think it isn’t befitting of a princess-soon-to-be-queen, I suppose.

“Our future queen cannot be prancing about with her breasts out for everyone to gawk at,” Aunt Elza hisses. Her dark brows knit together over her golden mask, a domino with a small rose etched into one of the corners of her eyes. I’ve always been jealous of her mask. I prefer flowers to gemstones any day.

I let out a dejected sigh and squeeze all four of my hands into tight fists. Patience, Polina. Only two more weeks. “I was looking forward to wearing this one. It was made specially for me by one of the royal tailors.”

Elza’s dark lashes flutter as her crimson painted lips screw up into a sneer. “Yes, I’m sure you were looking forward to it,” she says, her voice dripping with condescension. “But you must look like a queen. Regal. Someone deserving of the honeyed throne, not some discount stripper from the Colony Club downstairs.”

I roll my eyes and drop all formalities to goad her. I simply can’t help it. “Oh, that’s sad. Not even a full-priced stripper? Had to be a ‘discount stripper.’ You know, I really don’t know what you mean by that. Are you saying the women who work at the club are cheap and undeserving of respect? They have their place within the hive, do they not?”

Elza scowls at me. “Your Highness.”

“Aunt Elza.” I scowl back. This isn’t productive. I know it isn’t. But when I only managed to get three hours of sleep last night, I can’t help but be testy, and Elza just so happens to be right there, with her extremely hittable face.

Elza opens her mouth to retort just as another knight scurries into the throne room. She appears out of breath and panicked, her eyes wide and the fur on her arms and legs standing on end. “Your Highness, Majordomo Elza!”

We both turn to face the knight and say, “What is it?” in unison.

When the knight finally reaches us at the other end of the long stretch of red carpet, she bends over her quaking knees, huffing and puffing. “The hive … is being … moved. We are being … relocated.”

My throat tightens, and Aunt Elza and I share a look. “To the balcony. Now,” I say, and Aunt Elza nods once before departing. I unfurl my wings, readying them for flight, and look behind me. Ser Beatrix is already making her way toward me. “Ser Beatrix, escort me to the auditorium balcony at once.”

She drops into a half-bow and unfurls her own pair of wings. “At once, Your Highness.”

Whatever is going on out there, I know in my heart that it cannot be good. The hive has not been moved or relocated in years, having been an almost permanent fixture in the humans’ guild for decades.

This couldn’t have come at a worse time. Two weeks before my coronation? By the sun, am I being tested?

“It’s worse than we feared,” Ser Beatrix says as she leans against the balcony railing. Normally, our view from the upper balconies is relatively plain, with a view of the guild gardens, which consists of rows upon rows of garden beds filled to the brim with vegetables. It smells heavenly, too, with all the lavender plants, poppies, and sunflowers planted near our hives. Even if we are fae, not true bees, we still adore the flowers and rely on them to live.

Several guild members, including their leader, an older man with the thick white mustache and balding head, don their beekeeping gear before approaching the hive. The woman with the dark skin, Jules, approaches first and leans over to inspect the hive as she always does. I’ve always liked this woman. She’s kind and patient. Two rare and admirable traits for her species, and everyone in the hive favors her over the older guild master.

I watch her quietly as she looms over us. There’s no danger of her seeing anything out of the ordinary. Our fae glamour magics protect us from being seen as our true selves. To the woman standing before us, we just look like a bunch of honeybees doddering about.

“We cannot allow this to happen. They cannot move us,” Aunt Elza says as she whirls around. “Ser Beatrix, att?—”

“No!” I cry. “We do not attack those who give us life! Are you insane, Aunt?”

“They are about to extinguish our life, little princess, unless we take our destiny into our own hands,” she snarls back. And then she stalks off, back into the hive to rally my knights, no doubt. But no matter what she does, they won’t listen to her without me giving them the go-ahead. I am almost their queen, after all, and they obey me, not her.

The woman places her hand on the top of the hive and turns to speak to the mustached man in low tones.

“So, yeah, I think they’ll be in good hands. I’ll check on them when I get back, too. It should only be a week or two, at the most.”

My antennae prick forward. A week or two?

“All right, Jules. Good to get the old hive out of here. Let her see something new for a change,” the man says as he pats the woman on the shoulder. “Not that I mind decluttering the garden a bit, too. But when are you going to take the reins so I can finally retire, hm?”

I arch an eyebrow as Ser Beatrix looms behind me, ever the silent sentinel.

Jules tosses her head back to laugh. “Soon, Mr. Clayton. Promise. But not too soon. Not eager to put all that responsibility on my plate just yet. Busy enough at work as it is.”

Then the humans disappear into the building, and a few more in their beekeeping gear step out to replace them. Their gloved hands lift the hive, and suddenly I’m tossed to the floor beside Ser Beatrix. She kneels before me immediately to gather me up into her arms and rush me back inside to safety.

“Are you hurt, Princess?” Ser Beatrix asks. A blush slinks across my face from the embarrassment of losing my balance, and I shake my head. The entire hive tosses back and forth, and I hear the screams of my people throughout the honeycomb hallways.

“No, but I must call an emergency meeting at once. Call everyone down to the audience chambers!” Ser Beatrix lowers me to my feet but keeps a steadying hand on my shoulder. “Now!” I bark.

She nods, then takes off at a run down the hallway, leaving me to rest my palms against the sticky honeycomb for support.

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