Prince of Bees

By Beka Gremikova

Ivan never expected his future to rely on a honeybee.

Just one more challenge. He clenched his fists as he stood before the golden door on the Ukran palace’s upper floor. If he succeeded, he’d free the imprisoned Tsarina Mischa as well as her subjects, who had all been cursed a week ago and mysteriously disappeared.

Unless my brothers already freed them. After all, they were Rusak’s strongest warriors, and what was Ivan but Little Pale Face, Prince Goldilocks? Prince Ivan the Vapid. Prince Ivan the Weak. Prince Ivan the Damsel. Tall and thin, the nicest thing anyone ever said about him was that he was kind. But every Rusakian man knew that heroes were supposed to be strong, not kind.

A soft buzz echoed from his shoulder. He lifted his hand, and his tiny ally, the queen bee of Ukran’s royal hive, landed on his finger. After he rescued her hive from his brothers’ attempts to destroy it for its honey, she’d tagged along on his mission. Just a small speck of yellow, yet her soft, humming presence soothed him.

Placing her gently on his shoulder, he pushed the door open.

His eyes drank in a dressing room glinting with vanities, wash basins, and golden vials of perfumes. Heaps of coins littered the floor. Statues lined this side of the chamber. Opposite them, three unmoving figures sat on thrones, wrapped in veils with golden circlets resting on their foreheads. To break the curse, Ivan needed to determine which of the three was the real Tsarina Mischa, the famous Honey Princess of Ukra.

He frowned. His brothers hadn’t yet arrived—which meant he actually had a chance. His fingers tingled with anticipation.

His gaze roved back over the room, landing on the statues.

He nearly choked. The statues were his brothers, arms outstretched toward the door, their fingers veined in gold. Behind them flocked the stone corpses of fellow failed adventurers.

Failure to guess correctly meant death, then.

And despite wrestling dragons and fraternizing with warlords and emperors, his brothers had failed.

Ivan covered his face with his hands. How could he succeed when his brothers hadn’t?

Breathe, man. Breathe. Ivan sucked in deep breaths, forcing himself to look away from the statues. He focused on the dragon’s hoard of coins scattered around his feet.

Part of him wanted to scoop up enough to buy his own kingdom and flee. Why put his life at risk for complete strangers? It hadn’t done his brothers any good.

But if he walked away now, what sort of man would he be? Rich, safe… but weak—weak in character. And somehow, that bothered Ivan more than his inability to hack a monster into pieces.

He cursed, then clenched his teeth so tightly his jaw popped. Wincing, he shut his eyes and concentrated on the soft hum of the queen bee under his ear. That small yellow speck, soft and fuzzy to the touch. Her hum drove away his frantic thoughts and helped him concentrate.

You must do this. Tsarina Mischa doesn’t deserve to stay cursed.

Ivan bent to inspect the women, searching for some distinguishing feature. They all shared golden hair and pale, slim fingers that clutched the arms of their chairs. Their dresses were identical shades of white and crafted of the same smooth fabric. None of them so much as twitched.

He bit back a groan of frustration. He didn’t have to be a warrior to succeed here. He just needed to think. Maybe his knowledge would spark an idea. What did he know about the Honey Princess?

Tsarina Mischa. He’d heard tales of her kindness, her generosity, her honey-sweet spirit. How she tended to the Ukran beehives. How she constantly munched on sweets, or spooned honey straight from the jar—

Honey from the jar.

His eyes snapped open.

The curse had fallen very recently, so honey residue might still be on her face…

“Queen Bee,” he whispered.

His small ally buzzed.

“Which of these ladies has honey on her face?”

The flickering yellow dot dashed from one chair to the next, sliding under each veil before popping back out. She circled the figure on the left, buzzing loudly.

Holding his breath, Ivan reached out, tapping his choice for the tsarina gently on the forehead.

There was a loud snap. He jumped back as the coins littering the floor grew taller, stretching into a huddled bunch of sleepy-eyed servants. They took one look at each other and burst into a flurry.

Ivan flinched, waiting for his brothers to revive and take over, pushing him into the background.

But the statues didn’t stir. The servants shoved them out the door as two of the cursed women shifted, rubbing their eyes and blinking at one another. Tsarina Mischa snatched the veil from her face, revealing soft blue eyes, and turned to her look-alike companions. “Cousin Anya? Ketraka? Are you both all right?”

“A bit stiff,” Anya murmured, shaking out her limbs.

Ketraka sniffed, dusting her chair with her veil. “That sorcerer had some nerve, cursing us because you refused to marry him!”

Mischa eyed Ivan as the queen bee alighted on her head, burrowing into her hair. “You’re not here to force me into marriage, are you?”

Ivan sat back on his heels. “Oh, no! That’s a horrendous practice.”

“Good,” Ketraka said, dipping her head to him. “Then we thank you for your aid, sir…?”

Ivan stared down at his scuffed travel boots, bracing himself for Mischa’s disappointment as he murmured, “Prince Ivan of Rusak.”

Mischa straightened, her color heightening. Her cousins gasped, then glanced at each other with knowing smiles.

Mischa reached out a hand as if to touch him. “Oh!” she breathed. “I—I’ve heard of you.” Her fingers fluttered to her hair, smoothing it. “I never thought I’d actually get to meet you. I was so afraid another type of prince might come.” Her soft blue eyes shone. “I’m so glad it was you, Prince Ivan the Benevolent.”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Beka Gremikova hails from the Ottawa Valley, Ontario, Canada. She loves wolves, travelling, and exploring new cultures and cuisines. Her obsession with folklore and myth often weaves itself into her stories, multiple of which are published with Havok. Her writing has been included in Bingeworthy, A Kind of Death from Uncommon Universes Press and the Faces to the Sun collection edited by S.J. Blasko. She dreams of attending ComicCon in Princess Zelda cosplay.

---

More Stories | Author Website | Facebook | Instagram | Twitter