The Bumble King sat atop his amber throne. His eyes combed the chamber, every thought venomous and barbed. He had killed to achieve what he’d achieved, and he’d kill again if need be. Beside him, an adviser droned on, whispering honeyed words in his ear.
Out in the fields, among the pollen baskets, there was a buzz of disaccord.
“He’ll be the last, sisters. In a thousand years, no one will know that men once occupied the throne.” She had been busy pollinating a revolution. It was finally taking wing.
Drunk on the nectar of progress-promised she declared, “I see a future where every woman is a queen!”
Too late they realized she meant to kill every woman who wasn’t.
