Queen Bee

First Love

My first love was cake. As a young girl, the smell of sweet chocolate was enough to kill any rational thoughts and make me act like a bumble bee. Bees buzz around happily and don't seem to care if they knock into something. They may get upset when they don't get their way either. That was me. A bumble bee drunk with pollen-or cake. Of course my father, King Harald, could find a way to ruin that same dessert. He has his servants hand it to me on a platter, right before he can give me my death sentence. 

    "How old are you, Dear?" he asks me, smearing a cloth over his mouth.

    "Sixteen, Father." My mother, who sits at the other side of the table to the right of him, hides a pained expression.

    "Sixteen. Sixteen. Might as well be a young lady, aye?" He gives Mother a short look, like hes asking for permission to go on with the conversation. She gives a polite smile and nods.

    "Do you know what that means?"

    "No Father, please, do tell." My sarcasm seems to fly right over his bald head.

    "It means its time for you to...grow up! Do what all ladies your age do!" His smile makes crinkles next to his eyes. Suddenly I don't feel like eating cake.

    "I wouldn't know what girls my age do."

    "That's true." His smile is now empty as he looks to Mother for his next words. Mother, or Queen Pienel, tugs a stray piece of auburn hair behind her ears. 

    "You see...a princess such as yourself needs a man to help guide you when you become a queen." He flinches, perhaps at his word choice.

    "I could do it on my own." The king lets out a rapturous laugh.

    "That would be the day! No, Darling, it's just not done that way." 

    "Your father means to say that he...we want you to be in company and happy for the rest of your life." Mother smiles, like this solves everything. 

    "The princes just don't seem to like me." I pick up my fork and attempt a bite of cake. 

    "Maybe if you were nicer to them?"

    "Maybe if they weren't so pig headed." I mutter, shoving a forkful in my mouth. 

    "Adela," Father slams his drink down, sploshing a red liquid all over the table. "You need to behave. We have guests coming tomorrow and we need you to be on your best behavior, understand?" Now that he's done dancing around the subject, his face falls flat and serious.

    "Fine." Father lets out an exasperated sigh and falls back. My mom puts her hand over his before he can erupt like usual. She has a way of doing that.

    "Just try your best, Dear. That's all we can ask of you." I scoot my plate forward, my stomach full with contempt. 

    "Of course. I'll be your perfect little princess."