“Blaine, where have you been all this time? I was so worried!”
“…I’m sorry.”
Tears pooled in the Queen’s eyes as she walked toward Blaine with steps so unsteady she looked ready to collapse at any moment. When Hurel’s silvery gemstone-like eyes filled with tears, there had been a strange eroticism beneath the sorrow—something that had stirred an itch deep in Blaine’s belly. But when the Queen teared up, all Blaine felt was pure pity, an urge to soothe her gently.
And strangely… Blaine’s heart felt lighter. Whenever Hurel looked on the verge of crying, Blaine felt like he would lose his mind—like a child thrown into a desert with no way to cope. But this trembling face before him now simply made him want to comfort it.
“Blaine…!”
“G‑ghk!”
The small body threw itself into his arms as if diving off a cliff. Blaine caught her instinctively—then jolted at his own thoughts just moments earlier. Why on earth was he comparing that spider to the Queen? There was no greater blasphemy. Failing to put the Queen first—alongside everything he’d thought—stabbed him with needles of guilt until his heart ached.
The head burrowing into his shoulder was as small as Hurel’s. The Queen’s hair was just as soft—but Hurel’s had been a little curlier, hadn’t it? And each time those strands fluttered, a pleasant fragrance brushed past—also similar. Except the Queen carried a delicate sweetness, like honey radiating outward from somewhere close to her pulse… whereas that spider smelled overwhelmingly of deep, intoxicating wood, from everywhere on his body—
…There he went again. Thinking like that.
“It’s all right now, Your Majesty. You must have been very frightened. I’ll save you.”
Trying to reassure her as a loyal subject should, Blaine offered a steady, comforting smile.
“Please, take my hand. Let’s get out of here at once.”
But the beautiful woman only gazed up at him with tearful, sorrowful eyes—and shook her head. No? At this moment she should be nodding up and down. Blaine stared at her in confusion.
“Blaine, it’s all pointless. The wasps are guarding the outside too tightly.”
“Th-that’s not true. I’ll protect you.”
“You may be big as a wasp, but you’re still a honeybee. You can’t overcome what you were born lacking.”
Her voice carried a bleak resignation that suggested she had already given up everything. Blaine panicked—he had prepared for many difficulties, but not this. He fumbled for words, trying to coax his sovereign, but nothing moved her. It felt like talking to a wall.
“Still… I’m glad I get to see you at the end. Blaine, will you grant me my last wish?”
“What do you mean, ‘last’? Why would you say that—please don’t give up—”
“Blaine!!”
“H‑huh?!”
The Queen, somehow full of strength despite her small frame, threw her arms around Blaine hard enough to make a thump that sounded like bruising ribs. Blaine couldn’t even complain.
“Blaine, I’ve never had the courage to say it before… but if I die like this, I won’t be able to close my eyes in peace.”
“Your Majesty, why do you keep talking about dying…”
“Blaine, the truth is… I—”
“…Yes?”
Something was off. Those eyes staring directly into his were glowing strangely, and a blush spread across the Queen’s cheeks. Blaine couldn’t make sense of the situation. He stammered and instinctively stepped back—though the Queen’s hand yanked him in closer than before.
“Y-Your Majesty, this… this isn’t the right time. Whatever you wish to say, I’ll hear it later. For now—”
“The truth is, I’ve… cared for you for a long time.”
“Please come this way—if it’s hard to walk, I’ll carry you on my—”
His desperate attempt to flee the conversation and haul the Queen toward the door shattered into pieces.
“I’ve held feelings for you for a very long time.”
Blaine turned into a completely vacant, devastated honeybee, his soul leaving his body.
***
Savage, brutal predators feared by every creature in the forest—wasps looked like they lived a delightful life. But for a wasp like Anse, the reality was far from pleasant. Sure, the big shots might enjoy themselves. But Anse? Even after escaping years of standing guard in the wind, rain, snow, and storms, finally being assigned indoor duty still left him at the bottom of the ladder. Life was not enjoyable.
He had dragged back a butterfly so much heavier than it looked—nearly killing himself to do it—and now they wouldn’t even let him touch a single downy feather? What an injustice. Resentment he’d been bottling up for ages finally boiled over, stirring his rebellious streak. Frustration led to reckless bravado, and bravado led to action.
While his senior wasp—talented only in slacking off and nitpicking—dozed away as usual, Anse snuck over, stole his keycard, and slipped into the red room with a smirk.
“Well, well…”
A man lay unconscious on a large, donut-shaped bed. His hair, tangled and dusty, still glimmered like platinum. The tips were dipped in black, brushing against thick, stiff lashes that looked starched. His small nose was perfectly shaped, leading down to plump lips parted just slightly as he breathed quietly. His cheeks were a softer pink than his lips—and would surely turn a delicious red if he cried.
It was a sight that made saliva gather in Anse’s mouth.
The snow‑white butterfly was completely defenseless. Not that a defensive posture would have meant anything—wasps found the very idea laughable. But Anse wasn’t admiring the convenience— He was intoxicated by the thrill of seeing someone lying down, utterly unguarded.
A slow, lecherous grin crept across his face as he crept closer.
“Hehehe, I’ll be nice to you. I’m softer than I look, yeah?”
He lifted a sharp claw and flicked off the tiny pearl-like buttons on the shirt—pop, pop. The fabric parted, revealing pale skin that gave off a soft, milky fragrance, like dough kneaded with milk. Most enticing of all was the firm, pale line of the man’s neck—ripe for biting.
By the time he’d opened the shirt down to the navel, Anse was nearly drooling in delight.
“Huh? You’re more built than I thought. You’ve got some muscle…”
Butterflies usually had long, dancer-like bodies—and many butterflies were dancers in fact. This white butterfly wasn’t bulky, but he wasn’t slender either. His body was lean, tight, with clean, defined muscle and no useless fat.
Anse, who preferred waists slim enough to grip in one hand, clicked his tongue in mild disappointment. Never mind—he could just enjoy the face while he was at it.
“Heheh… your skin is really soft, though—huh?”
As he slid his hand into the open shirt, stroking the man’s side, Anse frowned slightly. The warm, smooth skin was definitely soft—but he could feel firm resistance beneath it, not yielding easily to his grip. Had this one lived rougher than expected? His face looked refined, but…
Eh, so there’s not much to squeeze. Grumbling, Anse slid his hand down to the man’s thigh. Who cared if the body wasn’t his exact type—his face was more than enough. As long as he tasted good, nothing else mattered.
“Wonder if he’s wet…? He better be. If he isn’t, taking my size all the way inside is gonna tear him. You can tell—it’s pretty monstrous.”
