Honeycomb by Joanne Harris (book series for 12 year olds .txt) 📕

The Queen pointed out how many years it had been since the Prince was a little boy. Then she recounted some of the tales that her bees had told her.

The King looked thoughtful. In fact, until then it had suited him to ignore the boy he had brought into the world, whose vengeance against the Sightless Folk he himself had abetted. Had it really come to this? He himself could be cruel, but the tales that the Queen now told him were beyond anything he had ever dreamed. And this boy—this man—was his son.

He felt a pang of something that might almost have been remorse. “Send for the Prince,” he told the Queen. “Have him come to my court. It’s time.”

Time passed, and the Lacewing King waited impatiently for his son. But the Wasp Prince showed no sign of obeying the summons. Instead came word that the young Prince was gathering his resources and building an army of warriors to terrorize the neighbouring kingdoms. Complaints came in from every side, from the Cockroach Queen to the Butterfly Princess, and the Lacewing King became angry. How dare the Wasp Prince disobey? How dare he defy his father?

Of course, the King had no idea of the Spider Queen’s role in all of this. He still believed the Wasp Prince would come to him eventually. And so he ignored the growing complaints and hoped for a resolution. But still the Wasp Prince gave no sign of obeying his orders.

Once more, only the Honeycomb Queen dared say what everyone was thinking. “You made him what he is,” she said. “He’s your responsibility. Either you curb his excesses now or risk an open rebellion.”

The King knew that the Queen was right, and with a heavy heart, he prepared for a confrontation. He gathered together a hundred of his most ferocious warriors. Leaving the Glow-Worm Chancellor to care for things in his absence, he put on his cockroach armour and rode off in search of the Wasp Prince.

Through the web of the Spider Queen, the Wasp Prince sensed his father’s approach. “What shall I do?” he asked the Queen.

The Spider Queen looked at him tenderly. Over the years, she had come to be very proud of her Golden One. Handsome, ruthless and clever, he had exceeded all her expectations, and now she was looking forward to seeing him face the Lacewing King in battle.

“Make him angry,” she replied. “The Lacewing King is arrogant. Send out an envoy to greet him, then provoke him to combat. With my help, you will surely win; and then I shall finally have my revenge.”

The Wasp Envoy was massive; fanged and clawed in his yellow-and-black. Marching to the enemy camp, he levelled his giant, facetted eyes on the Lacewing King and said:

“What business do you have with my lord the Wasp Prince?”

The Lacewing King was unused to dealing with envoys. He was equally unused to dealing with the young Prince’s kind of arrogance. He had come out expecting deference, welcome, maybe even repentance. Instead he was faced with veiled contempt. It made him angry. The Lacewing King was not at his best when angry.

He said, “My business is with my son.”

The envoy sneered. “My lord the Wasp Prince is occupied. Send me your proof of fealty and I will convey your words to my lord.”

At this insult, the King’s entourage gave a collective hiss of rage.

“My proof of fealty?” he said.

The envoy looked down at the Lacewing King from eyes that reflected him a hundred—no, a thousand times. “Your time is over,” the envoy said. “Too long have you ruled the Silken Folk. You are old. The Wasp Prince is young. His message to you is this: swear fealty, or prepare for war.”

In all his life, the Lacewing King had never yielded to anyone. The thought that he might do so now was utterly unthinkable. And yet the Honeycomb Queen was right. The Wasp Prince was his—and only his—responsibility.

“Tell my son to meet me at dusk by the edge of the forest,” he said. “There, I will meet him face-to-face, and we shall resolve this once and for all.”

The envoy agreed, and later, at dusk, the Wasp Prince and the Lacewing King met, their armies at their backs, to determine which one of them would rule. Both were in human Aspect: the King in his cockroach armour; the Prince resplendent in yellow-and-black. The King was wearing his coat of eyes; the Prince, a mantle of living wasps. Both were tall and golden-eyed; except for the difference in age, they might as well have been brothers.

“Come with me,” said the Lacewing King. “I will teach you all I know. I will make you heir to my throne and instruct you in the ways of our people.”

The Wasp Prince laughed. “But you have already taught me,” he said. “You’ve taught me how to fend for myself. How to be fearsome and ruthless and strong. Why would I want any help from you now? All I want is your kingdom, and the crown that belongs to me by right.”

The Lacewing King tried again. “There’s more to being King than power,” he said. “There’s patience—loyalty—and love—”

“So it’s true,” said the Wasp Prince, and laughed. “They told me you were going soft. The King I remember was proud and strong. He would never have humbled himself for a woman.”

The Lacewing King remembered the Butterfly Princess and winced. Once more, he tried to be reasonable. “When I brought you into the world,” he said, “I was young and thoughtless. I had nothing to teach you then but cruelty and vengeance. But I’ve changed. And you can, too. You can be a better King than I was. All it takes is patience, and time.”

The Wasp Prince laughed again at that. “Time?” he said. “I don’t think so. I’ll take my inheritance now, Father, with or without your blessing.” And at that, he drew his silver blade and cast his cloak of wasps at the King, who took a