9. Polina

POLINA

" T his is A Midsummer Night's Dream by William Shakespeare," he says, an unspoken question hovering in the air.

Calvin sits in the plush chair across from mine in the corner of the room as I wait for him to open to the first page. His dusky brown hair falls into his face, over the eye jewelry he wears, and I have an overwhelming urge to push it back behind his ear. But after the warning I just gave him about not touching people without their permission, even entertaining the idea would be hypocritical, wouldn't it?

He brings a fist to his mouth and clears his throat, then licks one of his fingers and flips to the first page. Oh, to be one of those pages right now. Being caressed by one of his wet fingers and?—

Polina. Get a hold of yourself.

There's a pause, and I smile. Then his eyes find mine, and he blinks slowly. He's waiting for me to answer him and I'm over here fantasizing about his fingers.

I dig my fingers into the fabric of my dress and say, "Yes, it is. When you read it aloud to us the other night, I had my drones find a copy."

He holds the book up and inspects it from front to back. "But it's … tiny."

"Yes, I'm aware. But we found a bookstore selling copies of it and I had my scholars create a replica," I say. "It was easy. That is what we do here in the city. When we desire new things to read, we visit your shops and libraries and create copies of the knowledge contained within."

His brows slam together. "If your magic can do that, can you turn me back to my normal size again?"

My heart sinks. Here I thought he'd find it intriguing, or even romantic, that I requested he read to me tonight. After all, we hadn't finished it yet. We were only on Act 2, and I am eager to learn what happens next. But I should have known he'd ask that question. Because, at the end of the day, he only wants to go home so he can get back to his life. His human life.

I wonder if he has a wife waiting for him? Why does that thought make me feel so itchy? No, not itchy. I feel … I feel…

Jealous?

Is that the right word for it? Jealousy isn't something I've ever had to deal with. Not as the princess. If I desire something, all I have to do is snap my fingers and it's mine. Food, clothing, books, jewels? Whatever I request, my drones and foragers will provide it. But I can't make someone give me their heart. Not even a princess can do that.

Shaking my head, I look down at my hands in my lap and murmur, "No, I'm sorry. That's not something we can do, otherwise I would have done it for you already."

"Really? That's … surprising to hear," he says. "Why?"

I look back up at him, and his lovely chestnut brown eyes make my stomach flutter. "Oh, because our magic is limited to creating glamours. We don't use magic to create the tomes, actually. My scholars have a printing press down in the library," I explain. Some of our magic could be used for other things, such as making our food taste slightly better. But other than that? No. Compared to other fae, we're almost … mundane.

Calvin smirks. "I meant the other thing. About sending me home already if you could."

I blink. "Because you asked to go home. Why should I deny you your request?"

"Your aunt seemed to think it was important I stay," he says.

"Aunt Elza doesn't have the final say, she's merely my majordomo. Once I am queen, I plan on replacing her entirely."

He winces at my words. "That seems … harsh," he says as he rests his elbow on the armrest. "There's clearly no love lost between you two, I see."

I shrug. "No. No, there is not. Will you please read the next act to me, please? I can't get a good night's rest without being read a bedtime story. And talking about Aunt Elza will only make it harder for me to fall asleep."

Calvin sighs and looks back down at the book in his lap. "Sure, sure. I can do that. Top of Act II then? I'm surprised you even like this. Not everyone has the patience for Shakespeare."

I don't say anything in response to that, because I don't want to drum up more idle conversation. Instead, I fixate on the sound of his voice as he reads. After ten minutes of straight reading, I let out a small yawn and cover my mouth. Then my eyes start to wander. First, they start at the top of his head. I take in the way his hair is parted slightly to the side. It looks soft and touchable. Grabbable, too, but I force myself to move on from such thoughts. Then my eyes trail down to his square jawline, the darkening hair on his chin, and the bulge in his throat.

And then … then my eyes move down the slope of his slender neck and roam over his bare chest. His biceps flex every now and then, when he turns a page or when he leans forward as he tries to get more comfortable. He has nice arms. I like them, the way they curve. They're lean but look strong.

"You spotted snakes with double tongue," he reads. "Thorny hedgehogs, be not seen."

I lean against the armrest on two of my arms and rest my chin on the backs of my knuckles. "I wish I was Titania."

He lifts a brow at me and pauses his reading. "Oh? And why is that?"

"So I could beat that Oberon to a bloody pulp, of course!" I make a hand-wringing movement with all four of my hands and bare my teeth. Suddenly, I'm not tired anymore. I'm incensed by how the play is going. "Fae don't tend to be faithful to one another, but the gall of Oberon, to cheat on his queen!"

Calvin arches a brow at me as he takes in my outburst. "She's not faithful to him, either, though. That's the whole point of the play. They're fighting because they're in a toxic relationship."

I roll my eyes. "Sounds about right, for fae." A sigh escapes my lips. "We are literally the worst."

I've dreamt of a love, true love, since I was a larva in my brood cell. What it would feel like to be treated fondly by a lover. One who wouldn't look at other women and stray. Not very fae of me, I realize, but perhaps the blame lies with my mother, for she used to tell me bedtime stories every night even though she was busy with running the hive. She told me stories about the humans. About the other fae. About war, and famine. About knights clad in silver, defending their princesses on the backs of white steeds. She filled my head with dreamy visions of love and what it could be like to experience such a thing.

But love is not for me. It's not for any of the honeybee fae, in fact. We do not do things out of love. We do them out of duty.

Calvin stares at me for a long moment, then snaps the book shut. The fatigue must show on my face, because he says, "Princess, perhaps it's getting a little too late to be reading? Maybe you should go back to your own?—"

I buzz loudly with agitation. "N-No! We can't stop there! We're right in the thick of things." I stand up and tap the book on his lap. "No. We are going to finish it. Tonight."

Calvin rubs his eyes, and it's then I notice the thick bags underneath his eyes. He's exhausted. Normally, I wouldn't care and would make him read anyway. But humans are fragile, and pushing him too hard might make him reticent in the future. And I don't want that. I want him to talk to me and tell me about the human world and read more stories. And, of course, I have to know if Titania bites Oberon's head off. That would be a very happy ending, indeed.

"I'm sorry," I murmur as my shoulders slump forward. "We can finish this tomorrow, perhaps?"

Calvin looks up at me, his deep brown eyes softening. My heart catches in my throat again, but I swallow it back down. Silly hearts, always wandering off where they shouldn't.

"I'd be happy to read the rest for you tomorrow, Princess," he says, and hands the book back to me. I take it and set the book back on the shelf. I don't want to go, and I wish I could find some sort of excuse to stay, but … another yawn claws its way up my throat.

"Do you need someone to escort you back to your quarters?" he asks. "Is … Ser Beatrix waiting for you?"

I nod. "She's right outside the door."

Disappointment flashes across Calvin's face. Or perhaps I'm simply imagining it. Seeing what I want to see. "Thank you for reading me the story. I think I'll be able to sleep well now."

Calvin swoops into a bow. "You're most welcome. And thank you for the beautiful room."

I nod, dip into another curtsey, and make my way for the door before pausing. "May your dreams be filled with sunlight," I murmur, then take my leave.