Queen Gloriana the Eighth had a dilemma.

The Kingdom of Gloriana—named for the first Gloriana, the warrior queen and breaker of the Eternal Darkness—was a reasonably stable realm. Monster incursions kept their blades sharp and their soldiers vigilant, but these threats were largely managed and seldom required negotiation or diplomacy. Gloriana the Eighth liked it that way. War brought misery, and she did everything in her power to avoid it for her people. She was a ruler who could make hard choices, and make them well.

She was firm, but fair. Confident, but not egotistical. Her court trusted her judgment, her subjects respected her, and her enemies—what few there were—feared her. She had amassed a treasury of powerful artifacts, relics from centuries of conquest and careful stewardship. Most were practical; some were curious, some magnificent. And it was one of these artifacts that had led to her current predicament.

Sick of not understanding Skitherix—the concubine gifted to her by the Swarm Queen (and, for reasons she preferred not to dwell on, a giant, iridescent millipede)—Gloriana had fetched the so-called “Earrings of Understanding.” A terrible name, she thought. Transgemerald or Mindlink Circlets would have sounded much cooler. But naming was hardly important right now.

Once the earrings were in place, the world changed. Skitherix’s clicks, hisses, and stuttering, halting speech became fully comprehensible. Words, inflections, subtle intentions—all laid bare. And in that instant, Gloriana realized, with a near-physical jolt, just how impossibly cute the creature was. Every twitch of antenna, every careful movement, every slightly awkward wiggle—it all combined into something disarmingly, unbearably endearing.

The queen of the swarm had been right. Skitherix was the cutest in the kingdom. No exaggeration. No courtly flattery. No political charm to disguise it. The small, hundred-legged envoy had captured Gloriana’s attention completely, and now, with full understanding, there was no denying it.

And that was the dilemma.

Gloriana could no longer see Skitherix as a mere gift or a political token. She could see her for what she truly was: clever, earnest, strangely innocent, and—God help her—utterly adorable. Every command she had ever given, every careful act of statecraft, every logical choice about governance now collided with a single, distracting truth: Skitherix was cute. So cute.

It was a problem of state. It was a problem of the heart. And it was, Gloriana knew with a sinking sense of both wonder and fear, a problem she wasn’t sure she could resolve without chaos.

She had never taken a husband. Truthfully, she had expected to adopt a heir eventually, she had nothing against men, it was just that she liked her men like she liked her caffe: not inside her.

Her kingdom had never done concubines. Maybe alternative relationships, such as a queen taking a prince consort for the purpose of producing an heir while taking a queen to rule aside them, but Gloriana the Eighth had been far too busy over her twenty four years of adult life to look for a partner, and while she may come across as stoic, she really could not bring herself to just suck it up and make an heir.

So, what was she to do?

She was not attracted to this creature. They resembled a person in no way whatsoever, yet her voice, when translated tugged on her heart strings. She only had the kindest things to say in every situation and it seemed totally sincere and also she was not about to give the “Cutest girl in the swarm” back to the Swarm queen. It would be a slight.

Yes, Gloriana might have been powerful, but the swarm… well, the swarm was another matter entirely. Their forces were unmatched, a living tide of soldiers and strategists that could likely overwhelm all nations at once. Every ruler in the continent quietly thanked their lucky stars that the long-reigning queen had preferred stability to conquest, and that her focus had largely been on maintaining her territory rather than expanding it.

That territory alone stretched the length of the continent, forming a natural barrier to the Felllands. Without the swarm keeping the warped, nightmarish creatures at bay, life in Gloriana’s lands would be far more perilous. Merchants would not travel freely, crops would be at risk, and soldiers would be stretched thin. The swarm’s presence was not just a curiosity or a political headache—it was a lifeline.

So no, Gloriana the Eighth was not about to insult, dismiss, or make light of her current guest.

Especially when that guest had come—quite literally—to find herself a girlfriend.

Skitherix, all three meters of her gleaming, iridescent body, loomed over Gloriana, antennae twitching with concern. Her sheer size could have been intimidating, but the way she lowered her head and let her eyes settle on the queen was almost gentle.

“Are you okay? You have the lines on your face! This means sadness?” Skitherix asked, her massive body coiled carefully so as not to crush anything in her path.

Gloriana blinked, startled. Even with her wealth of experience dealing with rulers, generals, and emissaries, she had never been observed with such care by a creature of this size. “Ah, yes… sorry. I am very much caught in my own head,” she said, taking a slow breath. “There is… much to think about these days.”

Skitherix tilted her massive head, chittering softly. “The weight of rule is heavy upon the carapace.” Her voice, deep but surprisingly soft, resonated through the chamber like a gentle hum. She sounded almost sage-like, as if she had studied countless leaders and their burdens, and understood them better than most.

Gloriana allowed herself a small, rueful smile. Carapace, she thought. Not entirely inaccurate, I suppose. The swarm might have many strange customs, but it was hard not to appreciate their blunt, literal honesty—and the way it occasionally made the weight of rulership feel just a little lighter.

Oh, how she wanted to reach out and touch that chitin. The way it caught the light, iridescent blues and purples rippling across the segmented surface with every subtle movement—it was mesmerizing. Every curve, every joint, every smooth, glossy plate seemed alive in its own way. Gloriana felt her fingers itch to trace the patterns, to feel the cool hardness against her skin.

Maybe she could just… reach. Just a single touch. Surely that wouldn’t be inappropriate, would it?

She stopped herself, heart thudding. Her hand hovered in midair, trembling slightly. What is wrong with me?

Skitherix’s antennae twitched as she watched her queen’s hand stretch toward her, only to falter and retreat. The sudden withdrawal made her thorax tighten in frustration. Why did the queen tease her so? Ever since she had learned the contents of Queen Chrysanthemum’s letter, Skitherix had resolved to throw herself wholly at Queen Gloriana. It was her duty, her privilege, her calling. To be chosen, and to serve, in every sense.

At first, she had thought the hyoomee’s hopelessly dim. They didn’t chitter, didn’t click, didn’t scent the air properly. They lacked antennae, lacked wings, lacked all the natural signs that should have made communication effortless. They were blank, soft, unreadable.

But after a few days among them, she had an epiphany. The hyoomee’s weren’t dumb at all—they were just different. They expressed themselves in tiny shifts of their squishy faces: the faint curve of their mouths, the widening of their eyes, the subtle tightening of their brows. Whole conversations happened there, painted across flesh as malleable as dough. Skitherix had begun to piece some of it together, but it was like learning a whole new language without a teacher. And she was determined not to fail. She was, after all, the cutest insect in the land, and the cutest insect did not falter at her duties.

So she studied. Every tilt of Gloriana’s lips, every flutter of her lashes, every line etched into her cheeks. Skitherix’s many legs carried her closer without thinking, her gaze locked on the queen’s face, searching.

Right now, she was sure—absolutely certain—that Queen Gloriana was experiencing bewilderment. Bewilderment, laced with hesitation, perhaps even longing. Skitherix’s mandibles clicked softly in triumph at her deduction.

The talkie-talk ornament had changed everything. With it, the walls of silence had fallen, and they could finally speak properly. It made good for the talking. It made good for the bonding. But Skitherix yearned for more than words. She wanted proof, closeness, contact.

And still, her queen’s hand hovered and faltered, leaving Skitherix to burn with an eager, unfulfilled anticipation.

Well, Skitherix didn’t really understand the hyoomee culture yet. She would, of course—she was diligent, clever, and the cutest of the swarm, after all—but such things took time. Many moons, perhaps even summers, of close observation and practice. Their ways were strange, yes, but strangeness was not a wall. It was a tunnel to dig through, a chasm to bridge. She would devote herself wholly to this cause. She would learn how to be the perfect companion to Queen Gloriana.

That being said… there were some problems.

Queen Chrysanthemum had given her very clear permission: Queen Gloriana could mate with her. A command and a blessing. But Skitherix wasn’t even sure where to begin. For one, the hyoomee’s wrapped themselves in layers of soft decorations that covered every inch of their bodies. They draped their torsos, their legs, even their limbs in cloth. Skitherix had spent entire hours watching Gloriana’s gowns, her cloaks, her sleeves, and could not for the life of her determine what purpose they served beyond obstruction. How could they possibly find mates if they covered up all the important places? Did they sniff each other’s decorations first? Did they mate through them? The logic escaped her, and that only made her antennae twitch harder with determination to learn.

And then there was the matter of… well, reproduction. Gloriana was female, which was excellent. Females were strong, intelligent, and valuable for companionship. Not seed sacs. She wasn’t like the males—good only for planting their essence and then fading into irrelevance. Gloriana was a queen. That made her perfect.

But at the same time… how was it supposed to work? Gloriana couldn’t fertilize Skitherix’s eggs. Skitherix wasn’t even sure if hyoomee’s had eggs. Maybe they birthed their larvae live? Maybe they grew them inside those soft decorations they wore on their fronts? It was all very confusing.

Still, Skitherix had made a resolution: she would try. When Gloriana was ready, Skitherix would attempt the mating, however strange and alien it might be. Even if it was nothing like the swarm’s customs, it would be an experience. And if the experience failed, well, there were other ways to bond. Companionship was more than eggs and fertilization.

She flexed her mandibles in satisfaction. Yes. She would make this work. For Gloriana. For the swarm. For romance.

Because, well… Queen Chrysanthemum wanted the romance. Skitherix wanted the romance too. The little theatre box had shown her many of the romance, and it always looked like they were having fun with it. Most of the time. Sometimes they shouted, or cried, or even threw things at each other, and then the next moment they were smushing faces again. Skitherix wasn’t sure why the betrayal always came after the face smush, but perhaps that was part of the ritual.

Her favorite was a theatre series about healers. They all lived in a giant healer den filled with glowing walls and clicking machines, and they had so much romance. More romance than was strictly necessary. Sometimes two healers would be smushing faces in one corner while another healer was having a romance betrayal down the hall. Skitherix didn’t understand half of it, but it was very entertaining. The healers wore white decorations, and sometimes blue decorations, and that must have been important too. She made a mental note to ask Gloriana if healers here also needed to wear white for the romance.

The theatre box was how much of the swarm had learned about hyoomees. It was no ordinary device. It was a sacred artifact, one of the many treasures that Queen Chrysanthemum had brought with her when she first arrived to lead the swarm. It played endless visions of hyoomees—walking, talking, fighting, romancing—and it had shaped their understanding of the species. The box was mysterious, unfathomable, eternal. What it showed must have been true.

And it was not the only relic. There was also the Box of Lost Souls, which whispered endlessly in hyoomee tongues to no one in particular, and the Weapon of Hot Breath, a terrible device that unleashed streams of scalding air so hot it could wilt a drone’s antennae in seconds.

There were even darker rumors—that beneath the queen’s palace lay vaults filled with stranger artifacts, treasures carried from another age. Some whispered that the swarm queen could walk among them, pulling power from devices that no one else dared to touch. A few brave (or foolish) sisters had tried to creep into the deep tunnels and see for themselves. None of them returned. Their husks were never found.

So the swarm took it as proof: some knowledge was not meant for common mandibles. The theatre box was gift enough.

And to Skitherix, it had been more than enough. It showed her the romance. It taught her how hyoomees lived and touched and smushed their faces. And now, with Queen Gloriana, she would practice the things she had learned.

Yes. She would make the romance real.

Skitherix nuzzled Gloriana’s side, pressing the curve of her mandibles and the ridge of her head against that soft, decorated body. She knew this was extremely indecent—scandalous, even—but sacrifices had to be made if she wanted progress. And really, it wasn’t as though the hyoomee queen would even understand. There was no swarm here to gasp or gossip, only the two of them in the cavernous chamber.

Gloriana stiffened, breath catching, then—oh merciful broodmother!—she lifted one of her strange little grabbers and set it on Skitherix’s carapace. Slowly, carefully, she stroked, her delicate digits tracing along the smooth plates.

YES! The progress had been made!

Skitherix’s antennae quivered, her spiracles fluttered. She nearly crooned aloud, but remembered herself just in time. Instead, she focused on keeping her pheromones subtle, discreet, invisible. But, well… maybe not too subtle. Just a hint. Just enough to mark the queen as hers, claimed by scent and heart alike.

Her abdomen throbbed with warmth at the thought, her glands working against her will. She prayed none of her sisters wandered in now, because if anyone caught her flagrantly pheromone-marking the hyoomee queen right in the middle of the big chamber… oh, she would never hear the end of it. They would tease her until her mandibles fell off.

But still, she leaned in closer, unable to help herself. This was destiny. This was the romance.

SupernovaSymphony

She may be the cutest massive iridescent millipede but you can't say she isn't a hard worker

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My Catalogue:

Mother of Midnight (Monster Reincarnation)
Metamoophosis (Urban Fantasy Transformation)
GlitterHex (MOTH BIMBO)
The Magnificent Miss Momentum (Superhero Comedy)
Swarm Queen just wants to find love! (Fantasy RomCom)
In this Void, We Make Home (HFY one shot I did a while ago)
Field Of Lillies (Lesbian Romance Fantasy)