3. Polina

POLINA

" B ring 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?"

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.

"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.