There was Zenandra, now frail and aged, still laying eggs and fussing about the royal brood cells as the last hatchling queen escaped the prison of her pupal case. As she emerged, her delighted sisters thronged around, eager for the opportunity to tend her. Unsteady on her new legs, she clambered clumsily about. Zenandra herself nudged her daughter towards a group of her recently emerged royal sisters.
The new queens occupied an area to themselves. A cordon of worker wasps protected them from the attention of the young drones, whose tendency to mount any other wasp drove every member of the hive to distraction. Their rowdy behaviour was heightened by the collective expectation that many royals were due to embark upon their nuptial flight on the following day.
Each royal would fly a prede
