17. Polina

POLINA

Y ellowjackets. Here, inside the palace.

Before she died, my mother tried her best to instill a certain amount of wisdom in me. How to treat our subjects. How to act queenly, yes. But perhaps one of the most important things she taught me was how to respond to emergencies.

Swallowing my fear, I turn to Ser Beatrix, who is already going into defensive mode. Sylvie responds in kind and does her best to quell the panicking bees who are now pushing and shoving as they stampede for the doors.

"Stop! Everyone remain calm and stay inside the ballroom!" I shout. But it's no use. My voice is barely a whisper over the cacophony of buzzing.

"Your queen is speaking!" Ser Beatrix bellows. Her voice carries over the crowd like a church bell, and some of the bees stop dead in their tracks. Others ignore her outright and leave the ballroom anyway. Calvin takes hold of my wrist and pulls me back moments before I'm crushed by a group of bees scrambling for one of the doors on my right.

His face twists into a grimace, and he pulls me tight against his chest like he's trying to shield me from the crowd. "Stay close," he murmurs in my ear. "We need to get you out of here. It's too dangerous. We could be crushed."

"So could my people!" I snap. "I can't leave them. I can't leave them to that fate!" Unshed tears prick behind my eyes.

Calvin doesn't let me go, however, and when another group of bees rush past, I notice their dresses have been torn to shreds, like something—or someone—has attacked them. A streak of crimson is left on the floor in their wake.

Blood. So, they were attacked, then. My body turns to ice at the sight.

"They're right outside!" A shrill cry cuts through the buzzing. I can't see a damned thing. Everyone climbs on top of one another until the ballroom is just a tangled mess of bodies. Calvin presses me into the corner, using his body to barricade against the onslaught of bees. As he stares at me, sweat trickles down his forehead and runs down to the tip of his nose.

My head is a swirling rush as I'm left petrified in the corner. Useless. I can't even lift a single finger to help myself, let alone the others. Everyone screams and shouts and buzzes as bees are trampled over.

"Just close your eyes, Princess," Calvin murmurs to me so gently it's like a caress. "Close your eyes. It will be over soon."

What will be over soon? Stars burst in my vision as the lightheadedness starts to take over. Calvin's body is so close, I can smell his masculine musk, the pheromones that drive me wild with desire. Yet desire is the last thing on my mind right now. A bee wails from somewhere behind Calvin, followed by a sickly crunch. I think I'm going to be sick.

"Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind," Calvin says, looking down at me, never breaking eye contact. "Remember that part?"

"Yes," I murmur, tilting my head up toward his. "And therefore is wing'd Cupid painted blind."

He nods. His smile is strained, but it's there. "Nor hath love's mind of any judgment taste; Wings and no eyes figure unheedy haste."

"And therefore is love said to be a child, because in choice he is so oft beguiled."

My vision returns to normal, and the quickening of my pulse steadies.

"I like that part," I mutter. "Helena was an interesting character."

Calvin grins. "Yeah. Same. That was the first time I've read that play. I've only ever read Macbeth before, so it was nice to read one of his comedies instead."

I quirk a brow at him. "There's more? He's written more plays?"

Calvin leans down to press his lips to the top of my head, kissing one of my braids. "Oh, Sunshine. There's so much more, and when we get out of here, I'll read them all to you."

Someone knocks into Calvin's back, and he winces in pain, but he still doesn't move. He continues to loom over me, protecting me from the worst of it all. I hear Ser Beatrix's mighty voice. She sounds like she's on the other side of the room. I hear her scream Sylvie's name, and ice courses through my veins. I hope she's all right. But where are my other guards? There were at least a dozen in the ballroom itself, so why does it seem like Ser Beatrix and Sylvie are the only two in here?

After what feels like an eternity, the buzzing dulls to a low rumble until it's finally silent. There are moans of the injured and dying, and the occasional squelch that I will never be able to get out of my head for the rest of my long, immortal life.

"Your Highness! Where is Her Highness?" Ser Beatrix cries out.

Calvin works his jaw as a thick vein protrudes in his neck. He's been holding this position for so long, and it's a wonder he hasn't been smashed against the wall and killed. "She's here," he yells, then pushes himself back from the wall to give me space to turn toward Ser Beatrix, who is stepping over…

I gasp and fight the urge to cover my eyes. No, Polina. Don't look away. Don't you dare look away from this.

A mass of bodies litter the ballroom. Dozens of bees I was speaking to only minutes ago are now lifeless on the ground, their wings bent in unnatural angles and their glossy black eyes opaque and staring up at the ceiling. Oh, by the sun. I release a low sob as I stagger forward, and Calvin places his hand on my upper arm to steady me.

"Polina—" he starts, but I shake my head.

"N-No. No, no, no," I choke out, and rush over to Evie's side. Her body is mangled and twisted so that her head is looking to the left but her arms aren't even in their sockets. They dangle in every direction as her blank expression looks on, frozen in time. "Evie." I drop down to my knees and take her hands into mine. "My friend."

Ser Beatrix drops down beside me and places her hand on my shoulder. "Your Highness, are you hurt?"

It takes me a long, long moment to look up at my knight's face. Beatrix's expression is stoic, as always, despite the terrible carnage that lies before us. "No. I'm not hurt," I say.

She nods, then stands up and offers me her hand. "Come. We have to get you out of the palace."

Calvin walks among the dead, searching the bodies, but for who or what, I don't know. Survivors, if there are any, is my guess.

Ser Beatrix grits her teeth as she takes in the tragedy of the room. Corpses. Corpses everywhere. Calvin gasps, and we jerk our heads over to look at who he's pulling out of the pile of bodies. He pulls on a small hand, grasping for life. Ser Beatrix is next to him in a wing beat.

"Allow me, Caretaker," she says, and then grabs onto the survivor's arm and pulls with all her strength.

Sylvie bursts through the mass of corpses as she sucks in a deep breath of air, and Ser Beatrix pulls her tightly against her chest to embrace her.

"Oh, my love. You're alive," Ser Beatrix rasps. Sylvie lets out a little sputtering cough as she's whisked up into her girlfriend's arms.

I dab at a tear that's escaped from the corner of my eye and smile softly. At least there's one small mercy today.

Calvin smiles back at me, and it's then I notice that there are tears in his eyes, too.