“Summon Skitherix!” called Queen Chrysanthemum, her voice echoing through the vaulted hive-hall.

The throne room stilled as the chosen woman entered. Skitherix walked with stiff poise, mandibles twitching nervously. Some whispered she was the fairest in the whole kingdom, though most would never dare say such a thing aloud. To claim anyone outshone the queen was a dangerous game.

But Queen Chrysanthemum was not most.

“Skitherix,” the queen declared without hesitation, leaning forward on her many-armed throne. “You are the prettiest girl in my whole kingdom.”

A wave of shocked chitters rippled through the courtiers. Antennae twitched. Wings buzzed. The declaration was unmistakable.

Skitherix herself let out a startled hiss, dropping to one knee. “My queen, I pale in comparison to you! Your alien beauty knows no bounds!”

The word alien might have been a blade anywhere else, but here it landed harmlessly. The queen was alien, a being who had arrived from the wastes and reshaped them into one of the most powerful kingdoms alive. She was feared abroad, adored at home, and—if anyone was honest—utterly unlike anything else that had ever lived.

She tilted her head, thoughtful, then cupped her own chest with her upper hands. “Hmm. You may be correct. I am very beautiful, even with these strange flesh sacs.” She pressed them together side by side, the hall going utterly silent as her courtiers stared at their queen fondling herself mid-audience.

“Very well,” she continued breezily, as though nothing were amiss. “I will announce this now: I am the most beautiful creature in the swarm. Yes. This will not be argued. But you”—her antennae curled fondly toward Skitherix—“you are the cutest girl in the whole queendom. This, too, will not be argued.”

The courtiers erupted in a chorus of shocked chittering and clacking mandibles, some fainting outright. Skitherix covered her face in flustered horror.

Meanwhile, Queen Chrysanthemum just smiled, terribly pleased with herself.

“I have a quest for you,” Queen Chrysanthemum declared, antennae curling with dramatic flair, “that I would entrust to no other. For I must entreat another kingdom, and I will show my respect by showing them you, Skitherix, whose cuteness knows no bounds.”

Skitherix’s thorax plates shivered with delight. “O-Of course, my queen!” she hissed, nearly stumbling over her own words. “Where am I to go?”

“The Queendom of Gloriana,” said the queen, savoring the weight of the name. “They are said to harbor many humans… and not-humans. You are to deliver my message to their queen. I will have Skuz the Drudger guard you, and Lezizizizizikial will serve as your translator.”

The queen leaned back with all the dignity of a monarch and added, as though it needed explanation: “Their tongue is difficult, and they show almost no emotion when they speak, so Lezizizizizikial’s talents will be necessary. He even penned my message himself, so you may trust him.”

Skitherix bowed deeply, already half dizzy at the weight of the task.

“And Skuz,” the queen continued, her mandibles flexing in something close to a smile, “Skuz is just a cool guy.”

And indeed, he was. Skuz the Drudger was well-known throughout the swarm. He resembled a giant cricket the size of a horse, with gleaming jade carapace and solemn compound eyes. Everyone liked Skuz. Only bad people didn’t.

Skitherix’s antennae quivered with excitement. A royal mission, a chance to prove herself before other kingdoms, and the honor of Skuz’s company. But still, she dared to ask, her voice trembling, “And… what of your message, my queen? What words am I to carry across the lands?”

“THE WORDS ARE PRIVATE!” Queen Chrysanthemum boomed, her mandibles clicking sharply. The sound echoed across the hive-hall like drumbeats. Skitherix instantly flattened herself against the floor, antennae curled tight to her head.

“You are not to know,” the queen continued, sweeping all four arms in a regal flourish. “Lezizizizizikial is a royal scribbler, and thus bound by sacred scribbler oaths. He shall not share. This quest is of the utmost importance! I am trusting you. If you fail, there will be… dire consequences.”

The courtiers gasped in unison. Skitherix’s chitin felt dry. Dire consequences?

Dire consequences usually meant being forced to eat only nine meal balls in a day instead of ten, which wasn’t terrible, but it was still a heavy blow to morale. And sometimes it meant temporary banishment from the entertainment cube—the rare and wondrous artifact the queen had discovered, within which tiny people moved about and acted out plays for the swarm’s amusement. A whole day without cube access… Skitherix shivered. Truly dreadful.

“Y-y-yes, my queen! It shall be done!” she hissed, pounding a fist against her thorax with exaggerated fervor.

The queen leaned back in her throne, pleased, her antennae curling smugly. “Good. Skitherix, cutest of all my subjects, you shall not fail me. Skuz will chirp death at any who oppose you. Lezizizizizikial will twist human words into sense. And you—” She pointed directly at Skitherix with her upper right hand. “You will carry yourself with the honor befitting the girl I have declared cutest.”

The courtiers erupted into chitters again, some scandalized, some jealous, some simply swooning at the queen’s boldness.

Skitherix, caught between elation and terror, bowed so low her forehead bumped the hive floor. “I will not disappoint you, my queen!”

Skuz gave a single solemn chirp, which was universally understood as: She probably will, but I’ll be there to handle it. He was a super reliable guy.

Queen Gloriana VIII blinked at the messenger, her hands folded neatly in her lap. Her court fell into a hushed silence, all eyes trained on the exchange. “Could you please repeat that?” she asked, her voice smooth but edged with curiosity.

“Yes, my queen,” the servant said, bowing deeply. “The swarm has sent an envoy with a message.”

Gloriana raised an eyebrow. “The swarm… They have been content to remain well away from all other nations ever since the War of Cleansing Tears. Why speak up now?”

The servant hesitated, fingers tightening around the edge of his parchment. “I couldn’t say, my queen.”

A soft sigh escaped the queen. Her gaze swept over her court, settling on the banners of her ancestors, gleaming in the sunlight that spilled through the tall windows. “Very well. Where are they staying now?”

“They are in a waiting room, Your Majesty. One of the envoy can speak Htulthan and is translating for the others,” he replied, a flicker of nervousness passing across his features.

Queen Gloriana VIII leaned back slightly in her throne, her eyes narrowing thoughtfully. “I see. Bring them to the throne room. I will receive them here.”

The court stirred quietly, attendants moving to prepare the hall. The air was thick with anticipation. Courtiers whispered under their breath—an envoy from the swarm was a rare event indeed, and one could only wonder what message they carried this time.

Would it be war? Did they come seeking a treaty? No one truly knew what those intelligent insects wanted. They had kept mostly to themselves ever since the War of Cleansing Tears, content to thrive quietly so long as no one provoked them.

The massive doors of the throne room swung open with a low, echoing creak. Three figures stepped through, flanked by the servant from earlier. The first was unmistakable: Skuz the Drudger, a giant cricket towering nearly as high as a horse. His jade carapace gleamed under the sunlight, legs jointed in elegant arcs. There were no embellishments, no notes, nothing beyond his imposing, honest presence. He was just a cricket, and yet, in his simplicity, he radiated trustworthiness.

The second figure moved in a curious, scuttling gait. Six spindly legs carried it forward, each clicking softly against the polished floor. Its body was ant-like—slender, segmented, and armored—but where its head should have been, a humanoid torso sprouted, topped with a face. The face was unsettlingly human-shaped, but missing certain mammalian features: no lips, no delicate nose bridge, just eyes, a subtle brow, and smooth, chitinous cheeks. Every movement was slightly alien yet oddly graceful.

The final member of the envoy came last, moving deliberately in the center. It resembled a massive millipede, its segmented body long enough that it could easily swallow a horse whole if it desired. Its legs clicked in rapid, rhythmic succession, a sound that filled the room and seemed to echo off the stone walls. Its sheer size made it difficult for anyone to ignore, even the queen herself.

Queen Gloriana the Eighth rose from her throne, voice calm but commanding. “I am Queen Gloriana the Eighth. I am told you have a message for me.”

The ant-like creature shifted, scuttling forward. Its multiple limbs moved with uncanny precision, and its humanoid torso leaned politely. “I is Lezizizizizikial. I has cum az tranzulator for hyooman langwedge,” it stuttered and corrected itself mid-syllable. “I speaks on be-be-be… for da prettiess gurl in all da landz. Skitherix.”

The queen blinked. Her lips twitched into a small, cautious smile. The swarm’s envoy… and they brought a translator who speaks like this?

Skuz chirped softly beside them, a reassuring presence, while the millipede’s many feet clicked in synchronized patience. The room was alive with anticipation, yet tinged with a strange humor. Even in matters of diplomacy, some things were utterly ridiculous.

The giant millipede, its iridescent chitin catching the light in shimmering hues of green and violet, let out a soft chittering noise. Leziziz… the ant-like creature nodded vigorously. “Skitherix haz brooght u a mezzage from da queen! Will u assept the mezzage?”

Queen Gloriana blinked, momentarily caught off guard. The envoy before her was unlike anything she had ever seen—part alien, part… impossible. And yet, this was diplomacy, and she was not about to insult one of the most powerful nations on the planet, no matter how basic their communication seemed.

“Of course. I would be honored to receive her message,” she said, inclining her head politely. Beneath her composed exterior, she felt the faintest tug of exhaustion. There was little entertainment left for her at this age; she had long since grown past the thrill of courtly intrigue. Supposedly, she was in her prime, but her body and mind often whispered otherwise.

The millipede skittered forward, each of its hundreds of feet clicking in an oddly hypnotic rhythm, then reared up before the queen. Its massive bulk loomed over her, and for a moment, life flashed before her eyes. She could even remember the taste of an orange tart pie she had eaten once as a child, the delicate sweetness lingering on her tongue in memory.

And yet, rather than descending into some apocalyptic doom, the colossal insect simply lowered its segmented body and dropped a scroll neatly onto her lap. Its legs folded beneath it, it gave a final chitter and retreated with surprising grace.

Queen Gloriana exhaled and leaned back slightly, blinking down at the scroll. At first glance, it seemed… harmless enough. But she couldn’t shake the weight of its origin—the swarm queen herself—as if the presence of that alien monarch pressed against her chest with an almost tangible insistence.

Carefully, she unrolled the parchment, her eyes scanning the strangely punctuated, utterly candid words:

Hi.

I iz da swarm queen Chrysanthemum the Swarm Queen.

I iz sad lonely.

I red dat hyoomees no luv sekrats. I red da peper thingz bookz.

Give me gurlfriend.

Thank.

Her brow furrowed. The language was… minimalistic, bordering on childlike, yet somehow carried a strange confidence. She continued reading:

P.S. I offer my cutest gurl in my queendom. U can haz her and if u’s want to mate her, she willz not argue.

Ok now thank.

Queen Gloriana blinked again, this time more slowly, processing the message. Her lips twitched, the beginnings of a frown threatening to break through. Well… that is certainly one of the most unusual diplomatic letters I have ever received. Why do I feel like something is about to go horribly wrong?

She glanced up at the envoy, whose alien eyes seemed to be watching her reaction with polite, almost expectant patience. Lezizizizizikial shuffled slightly, clearing his throat. “Message iz… received?” he stammered.

Gloriana let out a short, almost helpless laugh, the sound echoing lightly in the throne room. “Yes,” she said finally, forcing a diplomatic tone. “Message received, loud and clear. I… believe I will need to think carefully about how to respond.”

The millipede behind the translator clacked its legs in rhythmic patience, while Skuz the Drudger chirped softly, as if to reassure her: This is not the worst thing that could happen.

She had a few options. None of them good.

The first was obvious: host the swarm queen for a time and let her choose. At least then, those involved would enter willingly—well, willingly enough. Better to have a volunteer than to force someone into Chrysanthemum’s embrace and spark resentment, or worse, a diplomatic disaster.

The second was uglier. Simply sending someone, chosen against their will. Quick, clean, and politically expedient—except for the fact that every noble in the room knew what that meant. To be handed off like cattle to a queen of chittering mandibles and a thousand legs. Gloriana could already imagine the outcry, and she would not blame them.

She tapped the arm of her throne, eyes narrowing slightly. The swarm’s request was absurd on its face, but the threat they would bring into her kingdom if she mishandled it… that was the real problem. To most commonfolk, swarm-creatures were monsters, indistinguishable from the horrors that prowled the wilds. The only difference—the only fragile line separating them—was their intelligence. And intelligence could be terrifying.

At last, she spoke, her voice calm but carrying through the chamber. “If your queen is seeking companionship from my kingdom, perhaps she would like to visit it herself?”

The words hit the room like a stone in still water.

Gloriana allowed herself a small pause, letting the shock ripple through her courtiers. “I am not sure our hospitality would be up to her standards,” she continued, measured and diplomatic. “But if she came here, she could choose among those I prepare to meet her. That would be more fitting than sending her a single woman with no say in the matter. Would that work?”

A susurrus of whispers broke out at once, gasps slipping between them like knives. Hosting the swarm queen had never been considered. Not once. The implications were staggering: opening the palace to her meant opening it to the swarm itself. A hive-mind of living nightmares, allowed into the very heart of human power.

Some courtiers blanched. Others gaped openly. A few, she noticed, were staring at her with something close to awe—or horror—at her boldness.

And beneath it all, Gloriana felt her pulse hammering. She had not just made a suggestion. She had offered her court, her capital, her very self as the stage for what could become either an unprecedented peace… or an unimaginable disaster.

Skitherix leaned close to the ant-bodied translator, her antennae trembling as she chittered in a rapid-fire staccato. Lez—thank the heavens his name shortened so neatly—nodded sagely, mandibles clacking once.

“She waz not allowed to no da wordz becauze she waz da deliverer,” Lez explained, puffing his narrow chest as though this were a grand revelation. “I madez da wordz becauze I iz very good at hyoomeez wordz! So only mez an’ da queenz allowed to no wordz. Can I tellz her da wordz?”

Queen Gloriana blinked. Then blinked again. For one absurd heartbeat she wondered if this whole exchange was some elaborate court jest, and that any moment her steward would leap out from behind a tapestry with a lute and a grin. But no—her courtiers looked every bit as bewildered as she felt, shifting uneasily, trying not to whisper too loudly.

She cleared her throat, straightened her crown, and inclined her head with as much dignity as she could muster. “You may.”

Lez snapped his mandibles twice, chittered a rattling stream of syllables to Skitherix, and then stepped back like a proud tutor prompting a student.

What followed was… memorable.

Skitherix’s entire body went into motion. Her long centipede-like segments rippled like waves, legs clicking against the polished floor in a fevered rhythm. Antennae whipped side to side. Even her glossy mandibles parted, clacking in what sounded suspiciously like applause for herself.

The display lasted only a few heartbeats, but to Gloriana, it stretched into eternity. She could feel every eye in the chamber darting between the undulating insectoid and her own stiff, motionless frame on the throne.

Abruptly, Skitherix froze, as if realizing mid-performance what she was doing. She snapped upright, the chittering ceased, and she hissed something short and sharp to Lez.

Lez dipped his head solemnly. “She iz sorrez for unsightly dizplayz. Iz embarrassed.”

Gloriana fought very hard not to gape again. Unsightly? Embarrassed? That had been… enthusiastic, certainly, but far from the most shocking thing she had endured in a throne room. She smoothed her skirts, sat tall, and inclined her chin ever so slightly.

“Her apology is accepted,” she said carefully, keeping her voice measured. She was absolutely not about to ask what precisely had been unsightly about it. Some mysteries, she decided, were better left to the swarm.

“She iz happey for dat,” Lez declared proudly, his mandibles clicking like a drumroll. “Me and Skuz r gunna go bak to da swarmz an’ tellz da queenz u wish for her to vizit. Az promzed, Skitherix—cutest in all da swarm, az decreed by Queen Chrysanthemum—shall be ur concubine.”

For a moment, the words just… hung there.

The throne room, normally filled with the faint rustle of silks and the shifting of courtiers, fell into a silence so complete Gloriana swore she could hear her own pulse pounding in her ears. Every noble eye flicked toward her at once—some wide with horror, others poorly disguised behind fluttering fans or stiff collars.

Gloriana’s lips parted, but no sound came out. She tried again, managing a strangled little, “Ah.”

What had Queen Gloriana the Eighth just gotten herself into?

Images tumbled unbidden through her mind: being presented before the swarm queen, Chrysanthemum, while Skitherix—still rippling faintly with pride from her earlier “performance”—was paraded forward as if this were all perfectly normal. The chronicles would not record her majestic rule, her reforms, her steady hand on the realm. No. She would forever be remembered as the monarch who accidentally accepted an alien bug princess as her… concubine.

Her court was staring at her. Every cough and shuffling footstep was a dagger to her composure. She straightened in her throne, trying desperately to recall her royal dignity, and said in her most commanding tone, “I… see. This is… most generous of your queen.”

Lez beamed, or at least the mandible-snapping equivalent of it. Skuz the Drudger gave an approving cricket-chirp. Skitherix herself wiggled with visible delight, her antennae trembling like harp strings in a storm.

Gloriana inhaled through her nose, slow and steady. She had stared down hostile warlords, assassins, and even a rogue wyvern once, but none of that compared to the looming reality now crashing down on her shoulders.

A concubine. From the swarm. A bug concubine.

The historians would have a field day.