31. Polina

POLINA

ONE WEEK LATER

I wake to the smell of coffee, a scent I am still unused to but growing rather fond of. Clutching the bedsheets in my hands, I sit upright and wipe the sleep from my eyes. What time is it? When I check Calvin's bedside clock, I notice the digits say 12:00. Whatever that means. Figuring out how humans keep track of time is still foreign to me, so I climb out of bed and pad over to one of the windows to look up at the sun's position in the sky.

I've overslept.

The bedroom doors swing open, and I whirl around expecting to see Calvin's handsome face, but instead I'm greeted by … the cat. Bonnet trots up to me, meowing, and hugs my bare, pink, fleshy legs. As a fae, I'm capable of donning whatever glamour I see fit in order to hide amongst the humans, and I was delighted to find this truth still held even in my larger form. Naturally, I picked the guise of a woman in her thirties with curly black hair, crystalline blue eyes, and plush red lips.

But I kept my delicious curves, of course. They are one of my favorite physical attributes of my bee fae self, and I wouldn't dare slim myself down to fit into conventional human beauty standards.

I reach down and scratch the cat between her ears, tutting softly. "And where is your daddy, I wonder?" I coo at her.

Bonnet chirps at me before trotting back toward the bedroom door, beckoning me to follow her. The scent of something sweet and sticky perfumes the air, and I head out of the bedroom and meander into the kitchen only to find Calvin, nearly naked save for his boxer-briefs, cooking up brunch.

I hug him from behind and kiss his shoulder as he flips a pancake in the pan.

"Hello, my love," I murmur. "You're cooking?"

Calvin smiles gently, and the corners of his eyes crinkle. "Yeah. Thought maybe you'd be hungry when you finally woke up. You want some?"

"Yes," I say. "But I also want something else from you."

His hair falls in front of his glasses as he shakes his head, chuckling. "Again? Didn't I keep you up too late last night?"

The memory of Calvin's cock at three in the morning makes my mouth water, and I nuzzle the space between his shoulder blade. "Never enough," I say. "But that's not exactly what I had in mind, love."

Calvin turns the burner off and moves the pan away from the heat before turning to look me up and down. He lifts one of his brows and says, "Okay. You have my attention."

I look up at him and grin. "My maiden flight. I never got to take it." He continues to stare at me, so I continue. "I am not a proper queen until I take my maiden flight."

Calvin blinks slowly. "O-Oh. I see. But … how exactly are we supposed to do that when I can't fly, Po?"

My lips curl into a cheeky grin. "Don't you worry about that. I am full of ideas. You'll see."

He opens his mouth to respond when a knock comes at the door. Considering I'm the only one with clothing on—a silk chemise that barely covers my ass, but it's better than Calvin's situation—I pad over to the front door and look out the peephole. Ser Beatrix and Sylvie stand in the hallway, wearing their own human glamours, Sylvie in a yellow sundress and Ser Beatrix in a t-shirt and torn jeans.

Maurice set them up with an apartment here in the building. Recently, he bought the building from Calvin's elderly landlady and decided to set the apartments up as a place for low-income residents and other people who have fallen on hard times and need a decent place to live until getting back on their feet. A commendable thing to do. He would make for a decent king, but he insists that he cannot run for "public office." Whatever that means.

My Calvin isn't low-income, but he's been "grandfathered" along with a couple of other residents into the building. I'm not sure what that means, either, but so long as he isn't out on the street, I'm happy.

I open the door and smile at my knights. Sylvie holds up a basket of fresh fruit and grins brightly.

"For you, Your Highness," she chirps.

I take the fruit basket with a smile and a nod. "You're too kind. Come in, please," I say, and step aside to allow them entry.

Bonnet rushes out the front door to greet our visitors and wraps herself around their legs. Ser Beatrix's face twists up in a way that says her soul has departed her body, whereas Sylvie is already on her hands and knees trying to pet the cat.

As Ser Beatrix steps into the living room, I hear Calvin making a mad dash for the bedroom, no doubt to put on clothes. Beatrix sniffs the air and steps over to the leather sofa, sitting down on it without invitation.

"Are you settling in well, Your Highness? Is there anything we can do to make you more comfortable?" she asks.

Sylvie steps into the apartment, holding Bonnet in her arms. The cat purrs loudly.

"No," I say, shaking my head. "I don't believe so. Everything here is … perfect, actually. I enjoy sleeping in Calvin's bed and living amongst the humans for now."

Ser Beatrix frowns and crosses her arms in front of her chest. I know based on her expression alone what's coming next. It's not as though this is a new disagreement for us. "That is all well and good, Your Highness, but what about the hive? What about securing our future?"

After the yellowjackets killed the majority of my subjects, the survivors fled for other colonies elsewhere. This heartbreak will take a long, long time to mend, I fear. Healing is a long and often times lonely road, but so long as I have Calvin with me, I'll get through anything.

I sent word to Evie's hive but never received a response. Either they, too, were compromised, or they are shunning me due to the loss of their queen. I would prefer to be shunned than have them meet the same fate as the Sugardove Hive. At least I can repair a damaged relationship, even if it's painful and will take time.

After dressing in the bedroom, Calvin walks into the living room holding plates of bacon and pancakes, and sets them down on the dining table in front of the window. "Hi, Bea. Hi, Sylvie," he says.

At first, Ser Beatrix disliked being called Bea, but she's since come around after he made the compelling argument that Ser Beatrix was too much of a mouthful for him. It didn't hurt that Sylvie also said she liked the nickname. That woman would do anything for her girlfriend, of that I have no doubt.

"Greetings," Ser Beatrix says as she lifts her hand. Sylvie makes a mad dash for the food and sits down at one of the plates. "Any word on the progress of our hive?"

Calvin, now clad in a pair of dark denim jeans and a black t-shirt, runs his hands through his hair. "Uhh … yeah. So, Jules is stopping over later to talk to me about it. She had to take it back to the Guild for deep cleaning. She wanted to be sure that there are no Varroa mites before giving it back."

"Very good," Ser Beatrix says with a curt nod, seemingly satisfied. "I look forward to going home."

Sylvie scoops up a mouthful of pancakes and says, "I'm nawt. I like it hweh."

"Don't speak with your mouth full, honey," Ser Beatrix gently chides.

Sylvie swallows her brunch, then says, "I want to stay here."

An awkward silence falls over the room, and I look between my knights, then to Calvin. He clears his throat and pulls me aside. "Maybe we shouldn't get involved. That sounds like … a personal argument."

I nod. "So I see."

Calvin and I step back into the kitchen, leaving Sylvie and Ser Beatrix to argue quietly. Bonnet follows at our heels, hoping we'll give her treats. I reach into one of the cabinets and pull out a baggie filled with hard, crunchy snacks that makes the cat go wild, and hand one to her.

"So…" Calvin says as he runs his fingers along the stubble of his jawline. "Do you want to go back?"

I snort and lean back against the kitchen counter. "What sort of question is that? Of course I wish to go back. I'm the crown princess. I have to go back. Though … there's really nothing to go back to."

My heart sinks into the pit of my stomach. If I think too long and too hard about the situation in my colony, I will burst into tears again. I've cried so much this week. So much mourning for my kingdom and the many lives lost. My failures as their princess are stacked high, and I know my rule is already blemished to the point of no return.

Calvin, sensing the shift in my mood, steps forward and takes my hands into his. "Sunshine, that's not what I asked. I know you feel you have to go back, but … do you want to?"

A pregnant pause follows. I can't even look him in the eyes right now, too ashamed of the answer on the tip of my tongue.

"Be honest with yourself before you're honest with me," he murmurs.

I close my eyes and draw in a deep breath. "No. No, I don't want to go back. And I hate that that is my answer. I should want to go back and put everything to rights again. To repopulate my kingdom. But who will I even repopulate it with? A lone queen and two knights is not a kingdom. We are in exile."

He presses his lips to my forehead, and a shiver runs through my body. "Then don't go back."

"But my rule?—"

Calvin kisses me again, this time on my lips. "Not every kingdom is meant to last forever. Human history is riddled with fallen kingdoms. Closed chapters on stories. But you know what?" He arches a brow and grins at me. "You're in a unique position where you can be anyone you want to be. Be any where you want to be. You can fly and settle elsewhere. You can stay here and live with me. You can go on an extended holiday to a tropical island and figure things out."

I've never thought about it that way before. I shrug. "Not very responsible of me," I mumble. "I'd be letting my subjects down."

"Sylvie wants to stay here, and I think Ser Beatrix would try to move heaven and earth to make her happy," he says. "I can relate."

I chew on my bottom lip as my mind races a mile per minute. "I'd be giving up."

"You'd be moving on, forward," he says. "But I don't think there's any reason to hurry with the decision-making, anyway. It's been a week, Po. Your heart hasn't even started healing."

I let out a long, dejected sigh and meet his gaze. "You shouldn't be encouraging me to abandon my hive. You should be telling me that I need to get back to it and lay thousands of eggs."

Calvin arches a brow at me. "Do you want to lay thousands of eggs, babe? Don't get me wrong. If you decide in the end that you want to go back and rebuild everything, I'll be right there with you, every step of the way. But I want you to think about what it is you want for once."

Do I want to lay a thousand eggs? No one has ever asked me that question before. Ever since I emerged from my brood cell, chock full of royal jelly, all of my choices were taken away from me. Never once was I asked what I wanted to do. There was only "supposed to" and "have to." There was never "want." What I wanted was irrelevant. And now I am being presented with … choices. It's a strange feeling.

"You know what I actually want?" I say, grinning.

Calvin smirks. "What?"

I step forward, lift myself on the balls of my feet, and kiss him quickly on the lips. He still tastes like sticky, sweet syrup and pancakes—a delightful combination, one I would miss if I went back to the hive. I would have to subsist only on nectar again. How boring.

"I would love nothing more than for you to read to me while I lie in bed for a while," I say.

Calvin lets out a surprised bark of laughter. "Yeah. Yeah, that … I can do."