#william is so creature here lel

[defensivelee]

Alien Alien: Encephalitic×Lullaby

The Prince of Orange is infected with a strange virus never before seen in the Netherlands. Supposedly it will kill him, they say it all the time, but when you hear that this or that or the other thing will kill your Prince...well, Bentinck's patience is stretched a little thin.

I would post this on AO3 but I don't have a proper reference post yet, so I think people who find it will just be very confused. It'll be there eventually, maybe?

CW: illness, religion, attempted murder, cannibalism, violence, period-typical homophobia, sexual tension involving insects, mentions of drool, implied/referenced unreality.

Story under cut, please enjoy :)

The Defender of the Faith was but one of the species of insects that dominated the Netherlands; though they had been chosen by God to far outrun the intelligence and advancements of the other, insentient beasts, they still found themselves hunted on their own land as the prey of larger beings.

Their Prince could chase off a hungry spider with a few swipes, drive a sword through a frog’s eye, in no small part due to Johan de Witt’s mentoring of the little spiderling— but good luck getting the Prince to admit that. Yet it was not in one of these oversized monsters that William found his match.

They said it was something like rabies, caused by a virus that had somehow survived countless journeys through galaxies and many, many species. Hans William Bentinck shamefully knew very little about any of those illnesses; even his database found almost nothing. He only figured out that it could kill his Prince when he first came across the symptoms.

In that moment, despite William’s head being held up by a few pillows, his breathing was still labored, wheezing, his tail lashing furiously under the blankets as Bentinck approached. His lips were damp as he ran his tongue over them, again and again with an anxious fervor.

“Your Highness,” Bentinck greeted him with a dip of his head. So-called emotions had been coded into him long before, and yet he still couldn’t name many of the ones that came to him, such as this one he felt currently as he stared down at William.

“Hans,” the Prince managed. “What- what are you doing—?”

“Did you think I was going to leave you alone here?” Bentinck asked. He knelt beside the bed, reaching a hand out towards William’s head. “You know I am immune to illness, so why shouldn’t I come see you?”

William flicked his antennae back and snapped his jaws at Bentinck’s hand. Bentinck drew his hand back just in time, buzzing with irritation.

“Please don’t do that.”

William buzzed as well, his gaze drifting to the ceiling. His smaller eyes were screwed shut, as if the room was much too bright for all of them at the same time, even with the dim neon lamps flickering from the walls and floor.

“They tell me you cannot drink,” Bentinck went on. “So I wanted to try because I hear you keep trying to bite everyone.”

Another buzz from William.

“I think there are more civil ways of telling someone you don’t like something,” said Bentinck. “I think you can shake your head and just hide.”

William’s eyes widened with outrage, and he turned to Bentinck, trying to sit up. “No- no more hiding—!” He broke off with a fierce cough, falling back down with a shudder running through his body, and Bentinck hurriedly pulled the blanket back over him.

“Very well, you don’t have to,” he said. “But you don’t have to bite, either. You’ll get other people sick, William.”

William said nothing. His tail kept lashing in its erratic manner, and Bentinck realized then that he wasn’t doing it willingly. It swung before him like a noose, the spikes on it shaking and producing a rattling sound like a serpent’s tail.

Actually, he’d never heard a rattlesnake. He’d never even seen one, but he knew the sound as sure as he knew his own name. The name that William had chosen for him. So he decided that the snake sounded like William and not the other way around.

“Well, where is the water?” Bentinck glanced to the side, and William hissed, shaking his head rapidly.

“You have to drink something.” The android stood up and hesitated as he took the bowl of water from beside the bed. He could see the light of his eyes reflected right back at him.

Don’t spill it. His fans whirred faster for a moment, and then he turned to William, holding the bowl up to his lips.

William’s eyes widened, and he batted his claws out with another hiss, his tail slapping Bentinck in the legs. Bentinck pulled the bowl away with a sigh.

“Why don’t you want it? You need it.” He lifted William’s head in his free hand before quickly pulling his hand back with a shocked buzz. “Oh, look at how you are drooling!”

William opened his mouth, and Bentinck could see the saliva drip down from his deadly canines. He shook his head in disbelief.

“I’ve never seen anything like this,” he murmured. “Please, William, could you at least try?” He held the bowl out again, and this time William sank his teeth into Bentinck’s arm.

“Oh, um, ow, I think?” There was no pain from that, but he could feel the saliva begin to dampen his sleeve, too warm and too heavy. He shuddered, setting the bowl down before gently prying William’s jaws off of him.

William lay back, wheezing once more. “I am sorry,” he whispered.

“It’s...no problem.” Bentinck lifted his arm and realized there were tiny tears in the fabric where William’s teeth had buried themselves, the infected saliva aside. That would be a problem; not for him, but for all the Defenders he spoke to on the daily. The fingers he had used to pull William off of him, too, had the saliva on them, slipping deep into the openings where they bent.

“Don’t bite anyone else,” he said firmly. “Please.”

So William would not drink. He would only keep biting, Bentinck knew, and by experience he also knew that William’s bite force was possibly one of the strongest in the galaxy. Consequently he suggested to even the physicians that maybe they should keep their distance unless Bentinck was there.

He spent the rest of the night out under the waving flowers, blocking out the light of the moons, far from any Defender. On occasion he would blink to increase the brightness of his eyes as he paced in front of a stream.

Just wash your hands, he told himself. What are you waiting for?

He couldn’t do it, not ever and not now. He could almost understand William’s reactions to being given water, if only William would certainly die if he lapped up every last drop in the bowl.

But he’s not going to die. It would make him better.

He has to get better. He looked up to the stars and crouched down in front of the water. He held his hand out, cautiously dipping his fingers in for a second or two before pulling back again.

There. That’s enough, isn’t it? He buzzed as he examined the water dripping from his hand, then dried it on his coat before he had to stare at it any longer. Whoever heard of a wet robot? How unnatural.

No damage was done. All his systems were functioning properly and up to date.

He lifted his head, at that moment hearing a sort of miserable weeping behind him, sobs of a lady getting closer. He gasped and stood up, looking wildly about him before realizing that through the leaves he heard the steady crawling of an insect. A large one, too.

The animal dragged itself out into the light of Bentinck’s eyes. It was a green praying mantis, certainly a female judging from her size alone. He ducked back down to make himself smaller in front of her, and she looked at him, holding one of her forelegs up to her face. She was the one crying, though without any hint of tears.

“Oh, android, forgive me, I did not mean to interrupt- whatever you were doing,” she said in rather coarse Dutch, trying to speak through her gasps. “I- I had nowhere else to go.”

“It’s no problem,” Bentinck said softly. Somehow he wasn’t awfully shocked that a praying mantis should be speaking to him. Maybe they had always spoken to the Defender of the Faith, but none had ever listened. He could listen now.

“Thank you,” she said, a little quieter now. “Thank you.” She crawled around him, towards the water, and he sat down, looking curiously up at her. He had never dared to get closer to a mantis, de Witt had always forbidden it, but what could they do to him?

“Is something wrong?” he asked. “If I may know.”

“Oh, I suppose,” the mantis replied. “No one else will listen.”

“The Prince calls me a good listener.”

“The Prince himself?” She tilted her head to the side. “Well, may your android ruler reign long.”

“Oh, no, no, we- I do not- androids have no monarchy,” he said, shaking his head. “The very thought, robots ruling themselves! No, I work for the Defender of the Faith.”

“And who is that?”

“You have never seen them?” he said incredulously. “They’re magnificent Asterothiriots. They hunt the males of your kind sometimes.”

“Then they should come for my husband next!” the mantis cried then. “I cannot take it anymore! I- I cannot love him, much as I have tried! He will not listen, he will not even look at me.” Her voice shook, as if she would start crying all over again. “And I have been faithful.”

“Is that why you are here?” Bentinck asked.

“Yes, I just had to get away,” she said. She bowed low, burying her head in her forelegs. “He has no heart, though I suppose I should not have expected him to fit one in his tiny body.”

“Of course, he’s much smaller than you,” Bentinck murmured.

“He never speaks to me,” she went on. “And when he does, it’s only to be cruel. I feel as if I can never please him.”

“No man should treat his wife like that,” he said, narrowing his eyes. “What is he thinking he’ll get away with?”

“That’s just it, android.” She shook her head helplessly. “No one knows. He hides behind so much, but I just know- I know there is something there. There has to be.” She sighed. “I wish I knew how to find it.”

“Oh, trust me, it is very easy,” Bentinck said, reaching out to pat her on her leg. “You must look inside him.”

“Inside him?”

“Yes,” he said with a firm nod. “That is what you do with a robot. If something is not working right, you open him up and look inside. And then you repair him.”

“I must...repair him?” She sounded skeptical. “Why must it all be up to me?”

“Well, nothing of mine is up to me,” Bentinck said. “I would know love if I could. Maybe he knows nothing of it, either.”

“Love is something difficult to define. Maybe you do know it and you haven’t realized.”

“I- I don’t believe so,” he said, laughing a very metallic laugh.

“Why not? Already you have been much kinder to me than my husband has been in all the months I have known him.”

“Nothing is real within me.”

“It has a real effect on me,” she insisted. “And does that not make it real enough, Bentinck?”

He thought it very sweet of her to remember something he had never even told her. He shrugged his shoulders.

“To a girl like you, perhaps anyone looks kind,” he said. “Anyone that isn’t him.”

“I should have known,” she said, her voice hardening. “You and him— you crawl in the dirt like worms and never bother to stick your head out to the skies. Only when it rains. And by then it will be too late.”

Bentinck was silent. In the rain? He’d never come out in the rain.

“Very well, I will open him,” she said. “I will tell you how it goes. Thank you, Bentinck.”

“It’s been my pleasure,” he said. And he meant it.

The next morning, a dark, early morning, he was with William again, who had only worsened over the night. The bristles on his insect arms shook, and he bit down on his pillow constantly, his tail flicking from side to side in a manner that reminded Bentinck of when the Prince was younger. He loved to bite de Witt, constantly, and it was only acceptable because de Witt was the one who had taught him to bite in the first place. And William’s tail would always wag, like he found it very exciting.

Bentinck sat on the floor beside him and stroked William’s head, being very careful not to tangle the damp curls in his heavy fingers. William twitched once, twice, then sprang up and bit Bentinck’s hand.

“Please don’t do that,” the android tried, though he didn’t expect William to listen. “Do you want to try water now?”

William chewed on one of Bentinck’s fingers and shook his head.

“Please don’t do that,” Bentinck repeated. “Please don’t bite my hand.” He wanted to pull away, but it was as if the warmth trapped him there, the drool seeping into the open parts of his hand and wrist.

Please don’t...do that. He buzzed nervously and shook his head, unable to say more.

William looked up at him, and Bentinck took the chance to jerk his hand away, shaking off the excess saliva. He flexed his fingers to check if they still moved, but he had no time to run a system scan as William was snapping his jaws at him again.

“Alright, calm down,” Bentinck said, shuffling back. “What is it?”

William blinked, digging his claws into his blankets and bowing his head. Bentinck realized he was trembling.

“Do you think I will die?” he asked faintly.

“You?” Bentinck shook his head. “No.” He never once believed that of William. God was always watching the Defender of the Faith, for one reason or the other.

“They say it used to be fatal. Every time.” William paced on the bed, turning around to nip at his tail.

“Used to be. The chances of survival are higher now.”

“What makes you think that I will survive this?” he snapped. “Look at me, Hans!”

“I am looking.”

“I should have died,” William said. “I should have been dead long ago.”

“You know there’s a reason you’re still here,” Bentinck said. “Why do you think your life should have been cut short? You know God chose you. You cannot take that for granted.”

“You think this is a gift?” William wheezed out, his eyes widening. It gave him a wilder appearance, one Bentinck would have been afraid of coming across in battle. “Nothing is so simple.”

“Well, it has to be something. At the very least your reason to live.” Bentinck leaned in and cupped William’s face in his hand, carefully avoiding his lips. “Though I think you should live for more.”

“What do you live for, Hanni?” William leaned into the touch and closed his eyes, managing to purr.

“I—” Bentinck paused. “I live for you.”

“I told you you that you did not have to.”

“Then what else should I live for?” The robot shook his head. “I was created for one purpose.”

“So was I,” William retorted.

“Then maybe we can find more reasons to live later on,” Bentinck said. “Right now, you have to focus on getting better. You have to take what they give you, without biting.” He wagged his finger in William’s face, pulling it back just before William’s jaws closed around it. “What did I just say?!”

“I- I don’t know,” William said, backing away. He had always been small, but what he lacked in physical size, he made up for in determination, and, beyond that, spite. But Bentinck couldn’t see any of that in him now; he was just what he was, small.

Oh, William. He sighed and stood up, looking around for the bowl of the water that the physician had left for him.

“Are you not thirsty?” he asked.

“Very.” William glanced at him, lying back down and chewing on his pillow again.

“Then why...why do you refuse the water?”

William’s spikes shook warily at the word. “It scares me.”

“But nothing ever scared you,” Bentinck said. “And we are Dutch, William.”

“Do you fear water?”

“Well, I must. To survive.”

William said nothing, then sat up, turning to look at the bowl of water. Bentinck took it and cautiously held it out to him. Much to his surprise, William did not spring back nor try to bite this time. He shut his eyes and leaned forward, the spikes on his tail shaking rapidly.

He lapped at the water once, then jerked back, coughing and hacking up the few drops he had managed. Bentinck set the bowl aside and rubbed at William’s back.

“Closing your eyes was a good strategy,” he said.

“I- I want to try again,” William said. He shook himself and buried his face in his claws, this time nipping at the blankets.

“Very well,” Bentinck said. “I could try covering your eyes, if you’d like.”

William looked up and nodded. Bentinck brought his hand down on all six of William’s eyes, and the Prince fell still. Even his shaking stopped. The only sign of life from him was his heavy breath.

“Here,” Bentinck said, holding the bowl to William’s lips again. He stroked soothingly at the antennae as William sniffed the air warily and began to lap at the water with his tongue. Much of it he did not swallow, as he appeared to have great difficulty in doing so, coughing as he was, but Bentinck was pleased to see that he was drinking something now.

William made it clear he was done by throwing the hand off of him and biting into the wrist instead, shaking it furiously in his jaws. Bentinck buzzed and looked away to set the bowl down. The water and saliva from William’s mouth was sliding over him, into him, freezing and yet somehow burning him—

Do not say a thing. He covered the speaker on his chest and shut his eyes. Give him time.

Indeed, William did not let go for a long time, and Bentinck sat down on the floor, resting his head on the bed to watch his master slowly fall asleep. By then his hand and wrist felt nearly detached from him, and his fans were whirring faster than before. Somehow, despite the noise from the robot, William fell asleep, purring slightly.

“Very good,” Bentinck murmured, carefully opening William’s jaws and pulling his hand out. It was a little scratched up now, the fingers stiffer as he tested their movement. Or was he imagining it?

Oh, please don’t do that again. He stayed there for a moment as his fans slowed down. William snored softly away as if he had never bitten anyone at all. Bentinck wondered, for the first time, if he would wake up the next morning. He might have prayed, but surely God could not hear the words of an android.

As Bentinck had no reason to stay inside during the night, he made his way back through the plants once more. There were Defenders still out, watching him warily from their places on their flowers and webs. He knew they could smell the sickness on him.

He ignored them and kept walking until they fell behind him and he was sure he was alone. He had dried his hand, but not very well, so the saliva still clung to him and his parts. He hadn’t been imagining it— movement was definitely limited.

He didn’t want to wash his hand, but he remembered his First Law and decided to walk to the stream again, where smaller insects and bacteria swam. He threw off his coat, rolled up his sleeves, and shoved both of his hands into the water, scrubbing hard with his fingers.

He hadn’t realized water was so heavy. His movements were not as flexible, and he was relieved to finally pull his arms out. He found he could no longer make a fist with either hand, rather the fingers stopped short before reaching his palm and shook in place.

Reduced mobility. Well, that was going to be a problem.

“Are you doomed to die, android?”

“W-What?” Bentinck looked up, high above into the cattails, where a black spider hung from a small web. “Oh. No, not me. My master might be, though. I mean, I wouldn’t like to think so, but they always say he will. I never believed it.”

“Because you have no concept of death,” said the spider. “You think you live forever.”

“No, only until my plutonium core has reached its half-life,” Bentinck said. “And- and I know what death is.”

“What is it?”

“When life ends,” he said indignantly. “Everyone knows that.”

“I fear you have a dull understanding of the world,” the spider said. “Poor thing. Why is it all so simple to you?”

“I was created to understand the world around me as I see it,” Bentinck replied. “I know what life is as I know what ends it, and that is death.”

The spider barked out a laugh, a highly unnatural sound from its body. “Well, is that what you were seeking when you touched the water?”

“No, I wanted to get clean.”

“Are there not better ways?”

“No, I—” Bentinck paused. “Sometimes the Prince will wipe at my face and hands with bleach, but I never liked it.”

“I assume it is safer than this,” the spider said.

“I suppose, Mijnheer. But he is very ill right now, so I couldn’t ask,” said Bentinck. “And I cannot do it myself.”

“But you can- you think you can touch water?”

“Water I must have an aversion to,” he said. “That is part of my Third Law; I must protect myself from damage. But I can disobey it if it comes in conflict with my First Law, part of which is to stop harm from coming to biological beings. It is not a specifically coded restriction like avoiding dangerous chemicals is.”

“What odd programmers you must have had,” the spider said.

“My mother did very well,” Bentinck protested. “It is for the safety of the Prince and everyone else.”

“You care so much for the safety of your master,” the spider said thoughtfully, raising a leg to his face. “The Prince, is he? Look here upon my web, android, and see all the harm that would have come to your beloved Prince had I not caught it before.”

Bentinck narrowed his eyes. There were flies and mosquitoes tangled in the web, even a bee near the center. All creatures potentially dangerous to Defenders, but nothing William had never fought off.

“Those are just your meals,” he said.

“Ah, ah, ah, Bentinck,” the spider said, shaking his head. “They told me themselves that they were all plotting here, amongst the cattails. They said that they were coming for your Prince, that they would kill him and bring about the rule of the queen bee, who ruled long before he did and will rule for centuries after.”

“The queen bee?” Bentinck buzzed in disbelief. “I have never heard of such a thing.”

“She is a Catholic,” the spider said. “All bees are.”

“Truly?”

“I have met many bees myself. All follow the same God.” He kicked a leg out towards the dead bee in the center of the web. “Including this one.”

“Then why do they produce honey for a Protestant planet?” Bentinck asked.

“Because they had no choice. It was either work for the Defenders, swear allegiance to the Prince...” The spider tilted his head to the side. “Or die.”

“No one ever told me that,” Bentinck said ruefully. He was always sort of offended to hear new information; he was supposed to know everything!

“Why would they?” said the spider. “You would think it unfair.”

“I do not.”

“You don’t?”

“No.”

“I see.” The spider ducked his head. “You are a very faithful robot, Bentinck. And yet for all your loyalty, it was I who caught these traitors. Not you.”

“You cannot call them traitors if they never had an allegiance to us,” Bentinck said. “They were just a bunch of angry insects.” He stepped forward, precariously closer to the edge of the stream. “And you took care of them, yes? So there is no more problem.”

“Of course, I will be expecting a reward,” the spider said. “I saved the Prince’s life.”

“He could have fought them off himself. He did not need you.”

“Never underestimate the cunning of the queen bee,” the spider went on. “Besides, these ones may be dead, but there are still traitors within your web.”

“You cannot be serious,” Bentinck scoffed. “The Prince knows who he employs. He can get within their heads. He knows where every Defender is at every time.”

“But you said he is ill, yes?” The spider leaned in, crawling onto one of the cattails. “He has no mind for that now. There are Defenders in your midst who would kill for the queen.”

“And- and your prey told you this?”

“I injected them with my venom,” the spider said, “and then they told me everything. They were going to assassinate the Prince, but should they fail, it would be up to their Defender allies.”

“Traitors.” Bentinck’s fans whirred in fury.

“Yes.”

“Who are these men?” the robot demanded. “If you tell me, I will make sure you are rewarded.”

“I do not share such things with the Prince’s little android,” the spider said. “Bring him here, up to my web. I do not mind his illness; he cannot infect me with it.”

“But he may be too weak,” Bentinck said. “Can you not come with me instead?”

“No, it must be here. In my web, it is safe. Safer than any other place in the Netherlands.”

“Safe?”

“Very, very safe. I will protect him. He is my Prince as much as he is yours.” The spider crawled upwards again. “In fact, you must come see how safe it is.”

“What- up there?” A spiderweb had never held Bentinck before.

“Yes.” The spider tilted its abdomen towards him, shooting down a thread of silk. Bentinck lifted his hand to catch it, but as his hand could not close around it, he felt it slip through his fingers, getting caught there.

“Oh, it’s...very sticky,” he said. “And a little thicker than what we— than what the Defenders produce.”

“I do take pride in it,” the spider said. “Nothing escapes my web, Bentinck. Now come up here, come see it.”

“Shall I climb the plant—?”

“Yes, I will pull you up.”

Bentinck brought the silk up to his mouth and clamped his jaws around it. It was a better hold than the one he could take with his stiff hands. Instead, he climbed up the cattail with them, which bent slightly under his weight, but was surprisingly strong enough to hold him as he made his way up to the web.

The spider, too, was strong, helping him up and moving back onto his web as Bentinck got closer. He pulled Bentinck onto the web, and the android lay back on it, staring up at the sky. He was closer to the stars.

“You have a nice view up here,” he said. He looked down and realized he still had the silk in his mouth. He tried to lift a hand to pull it out, but it was stuck to the silk he lay on. “Oh, I- I am sorry—”

The spider stared at him. “What did I say, Bentinck? Nothing escapes my web.” He severed the silk that still connected them with his fangs and began to crawl towards Bentinck. “You have nothing to apologize for, save perhaps to your master for betraying him.”

“What are you talking about?” It seemed to Bentinck that the more he struggled, the more the silk stuck to him.

“You will bring him to me,” the spider said, “so I can kill him.”

“No- no, I will not!” Bentinck buzzed in terror as the spider looped silk around his limbs, pulling his arms behind him. “Please don’t do that—!”

“The Prince is a shameful excuse for a ruler,” continued the spider calmly. “Peace will come only when the queen bee rules the universe, but you only know what you are told.”

“Nothing can kill William!” His arms having been tied back, he kicked out at the spider, who hissed and backed away. “And I certainly will not allow you to do so!”

“They all say that, until they get a taste of my venom,” the spider said. He shot silk out at Bentinck’s legs and pulled hard on it, pinning them back against the web.

I can’t move! He buzzed again like a helpless insect as the spider crawled up behind him.

“Your Prince was a mistake,” he said. With that, he dug his fangs into Bentinck’s neck, and Bentinck tossed his head back with a metallic shriek. The fangs had not pierced through his metal, but he felt the venom that they injected slip through the opening in his neck, leaking into the parts within his chest. It was like a snake in him.

“Mijnheer- please don’t— please—” He couldn’t even finish a sentence, breaking off with his miserable, broken buzzing. He was sounding more and more like static.

But the venom was still going, and when the spider at last stepped away, he felt it dripping through the openings in his legs and feet. The spider snapped some of the threads behind him, and he fell forward with a cry, towards the water. The silk had not let go, however, instead leaving him dangling upside down over the water.

Oh, my God! “Please don’t do that, please don’t do that, please don’t do that—!” He tried in vain to wrench his arms free from the silk. The venom ran back down to his face, trickling out his lips and eyes like tears.

“How are you still fighting?” the spider said curiously.

“I- I will see to it that you are never forgiven—!” Bentinck’s voice could hardly be heard through the rapid glitches; he did not know if it was caused by the fluid in his parts or simply his fear.

“Bring me the Prince and I will consider not letting you drown,” said the spider, “like you robots know how to do.”

“Caution: vision impaired,” came automatically from Bentinck’s speakers. Indeed, the venom falling from his eyes was pooling in his eyelids, blurring the sight of the water before him.

“Never,” he said of his own volition.

“Then you can die.” The spider snipped the remaining silk from his legs, and Bentinck shut his eyes and mouth, a bit like a Defender who held its breath.

The impact did not come from below, however, like he expected; rather it came from the side, powerful arms throwing him against another cattail. He landed a fly-length away from the stream, and he looked up to see what it was that had saved him.

It was the praying mantis from the other day, staring at him with her wide eyes. “Are you damaged?” she asked him, but Bentinck did not get to answer as the spider jumped from his web and landed in front of him.

“You think you can get someone else to protect you?” he snarled. “Just like the Prince thinks he is so safe. I will kill him, and the queen bee will return, and you will die like all unnatural children do—”

“That is enough from you!” The mantis fluttered her wings and carried herself over the stream. The spider looked up at her and hissed, batting his legs out at her, which she sliced off with a nimble swipe of her foreleg. She hooked her other leg beneath his head and ripped it off without much effort at all.

That there is death. Bentinck shuddered, unable to look away as she kicked the spider’s body away. She landed in front of him and leaned in.

“There, he cannot hurt you anymore,” she said. “Nor anyone else.”

“Did you know him?” Bentinck whispered. It was the only thing he could manage.

“No. But I saw enough.” With the same leg she had used to kill the spider, she tore the silk off of him, and he stretched. “How are you?”

He wiped away the venom from his eyes and lips. “Running system scan.” He paused, then buzzed with alarm. “Moderate moisture detected in critical systems. Mild disruption and impairment of mobility signals.”

“Is that a problem?” the praying mantis asked.

“Yes.” Bentinck nodded, trying to quiet his fans down. They whirred away at full speed, but it seemed like it took more energy out of him than usual. For once, he was exhausted.

“I do not want it fixed,” he said.

“Why not? Is it not akin to illness?” She prodded him in the shoulder and handed him his coat. “And it can make quick work of you, too.”

“I was created to be very- very resistant,” he said, slipping the coat on gratefully. “It’s no problem.”

“Should you sound like that?”

“Like what?”

“You sound a little muffled,” she said. “Muted. Even if you wanted to hide it, you couldn’t.”

“The Prince orders all repairs on me,” he said. “But he cannot notice anything now.”

“What about your Third Law?”

“You know about it?”

“Well, I must.”

Bentinck hummed thoughtfully. “I would hate to cause trouble.” Changing the subject, he asked, “How are things with your husband?”

“I did as you said,” she said, “but it only seems like he has spoken less and less to me. Truthfully, Bentinck, I cannot say if I fixed him at all.”

“It never goes right the first time,” he said. “There is usually a lot of trial-and-error involved in these sorts of things.” He winced. “Trust me, I know. It hurts very much.”

“For him?”

“For everybody involved. That was what my mother used to say, at least; supposedly I was very dangerous to create.” Bentinck shrugged. “I know very little about biological pain, though.”

“If he hurts, then he should tell me,” the praying mantis muttered. “I have tried to say— many times— what he does is hurt me. I tell him everything and yet I cannot tease a single word out of him.”

“Something has to work eventually.”

“I wish things were as simple as you saw them.” She sighed and waved her leg at him. “I must get back to him now. He would still like me at his side.” She helped him up and patted him on the head, accidentally tearing a few strands of the plastic wig out with her claw. “Be careful around spiders from now on.”

“I- I will,” Bentinck said, smoothing down his hair. “It’s one of the first things Defenders are taught.”

The mantis tilted her head to the side but said nothing more.

In the days following Bentinck realized he was trembling, which had never happened before save for a few times when he’d been shocked by the wires the technicians liked to shove in him. But this was something highly unnatural, and every movement, every step forward, felt like it took everything out of him.

Still, he was ordered by the doctors to stay with William, and he obeyed, even when the Prince’s jaws closed around his arms and made him want to vomit. There was a good, nice biological word; it made no sense to him, but it sounded like what he felt in the moment.

It was with this shaking, scratched metal that Bentinck was meant to bathe the filthy Prince with. They said he was getting better, but nobody knew if he was safe to approach yet, or truly how one could become infected at all, so they gave Bentinck some gloves and locked him in a room alone with William and a bathtub.

William immediately scurried to the door, his wide eyes fixed on the water in front of him. He had been able to drink more, but not yet without a great fight on his part.

Well, first of all, this is just too much. Bentinck shook his head and brought the switch down at the side of the door. There was a loud click heard from it, and then the two of them were in total darkness save for the light from Bentinck’s eyes. The light that was, he saw now, much dimmer than before.

“Is that better?” he asked.

William blinked and looked up, his pupils widening to cover much of his eye. He gave a slight nod. Under the spotlight of Bentinck’s eyes, his body fully exposed, the state he was in was all the more shameful— in particular his matted, tangled hair, almost resembling Bentinck’s own.

“Well, you certainly need the bath,” he said. “Come, William, get in.”

“Will it not— should it not hurt you?” William asked. He backed up against the wall, and Bentinck sat beside him.

“If it helps you, it cannot hurt me,” he said. “We can get this over with quickly. It doesn’t have to be so hard.”

“I- I cannot even look at it.” William turned away to nip at Bentinck’s finger, tearing the glove away, much to the android’s relief. “Oh, Hans...why are you shaking so much?”

“I don’t know,” Bentinck said honestly. He suspected it was the venom that had gotten into his parts, maybe that and something else, but it was all just his own theory.

“Are you afraid too?”

“Yes, very.”

“You don’t sound like it.” William bit into Bentinck’s wrist next, tapping his claws against his friend’s thigh.

“I have to sound calm for you,” Bentinck said.

William shook his head. Bentinck sighed, leaned his head back on the wall. Were they just going to sit here uselessly the whole time? The doctors at least wanted him to stop stinking of his own drool.

“Just take a look in, I promise it’s not so bad,” Bentinck said, leading William to the tub. They both peeked in, and then froze, buzzing warily as they stared at the water.

That spider nearly drowned me. He looked into his own eyes, batting at them once with his gloved hand, and as the water fearfully drew back, so did he.

“Just- just think about how nice it will be when it’s over,” he said.

“It will not have to be over if we don’t do anything.” William began to step away again, but Bentinck took his arm, pulling him back in.

“Maybe it will make your fever cool down,” he said. “My mother used to spray water on my core every time I heated up too much.”

“Water on...plutonium,” William said with a lazy flick of his antennae. “I see. And what am I?”

“You are the Prince of Orange, the hivemind ruler of the Defender of the Faith, William Henry—”

“I am all of those things,” William interrupted, “but not made of radioactive substances.”

“I would not be too certain. Your mother was definitely exposed to something before your birth.”

William coughed. “Hilarious. But I am no—” He broke off with another cough, and Bentinck rubbed at his back. “I’m not a- not a robot.”

“Lucky.”

“Unlucky.”

“So lucky.”

“Un-fucking-lucky.”

“How obscene.”

“I’ll cool down, Hans.”

“You have to do this first.” Bentinck held his hand out to William, who gave it the gentlest bite and wagged his tail in what was perhaps amusement. “Please? I want to see you recover.”

William drew back, glowering up at him. “You first.”

“Me? You- you want me to take a bath?”

“Just touch it some more. I want to see it is safe. I would like to- to convince myself.” William lifted his head, and Bentinck glanced uneasily at the water.

“Very well.” He tore off the remaining glove and braced himself before dipping his hands in the water. A dim, tantalizing feeling came over him, but it was by no means peaceful; in turn, it scared him how he wanted to fall in and let the water take him.

“Look how great it is,” he said, his voice blinking in and out in his speakers. “Look— come here, just look at it, William.”

“Is something wrong with you?” William asked, digging his claws into the ground.

“Never. Come here, William, you’re safe. See how safe I am—” He broke off with a buzz as William jumped into the water, splashing it all over his face and clothes.

Oh, no, no, no! Bentinck hurried to undress, and William bit into the side of the tub. Wet clothes were the closest thing to cold that Bentinck could feel.

“That was- that was very, very uncalled for, William,” he said once he was done, shaking himself off. “How are you doing in there?”

William bit down harder, the spikes on his tail shaking so quickly over the water that more of it was spilling out again. Bentinck pushed his tail under the water and stroked at William’s head, emitting a low, constant buzz like the one that Defender mothers used to soothe their children.

“You’re doing well,” he said, smoothing out William’s antennae. “See? If you can stay here, it means that you- you will survive, like you have survived everything else.”

William shut his eyes and let out a weak purr. He brought his insect arms out of the water and tapped them over Bentinck, as if he was attempting to crawl over him, but the rest of his body was still.

What is he doing? Bentinck winced when one came near his face. Kneeling down in front of William, still buzzing, he reached out for the soap, but his shaking hands only knocked the bar into the water. At the noise, William drew back a little.

“Oh- oh, forgive me.” Bentinck scratched William’s head between the antennae. “I have been...unstable as of late.”

“You have?” William opened one of his eyes. “And...why is that?”

“It could be anything.” It wasn’t the full truth, but it wasn’t exactly a lie, either.

Who knows what it was? He shrugged it off and tried to take the soap again, but it kept slipping on his sleek hands.

“Now that I hear it...” William sat up. “Something is wrong with your voice.”

“Nothing is wrong,” Bentinck insisted. “Nothing is wrong. Nothing is wrong.” His voice was being overtaken by glitches, his buzzing rising into high-pitched static. “This- this is nothing—”

William covered his ears. “Oh, whatever you say, just stop that noise!”

“Recognized.” Bentinck clamped his mouth shut, slowly bringing his buzz back to the low one William liked. As he did so, the light in one eye flickered, and when it came to again, he saw half of the world in black and white. Well, half of William, who was the world, anyway.

William started to crawl out of the tub, and Bentinck pushed him back in, more water landing on his face. His legs slipped out under him, and he fell forward, slamming his head against the water.

Oh, God, no! He brought his head back up with much effort; water had never been so heavy before. No, it wasn’t the water, he realized, it was all of his body, and he realized now why he had slipped.

My systems are not obeying me. He huffed and sat back, and William frantically jumped out of the tub and onto him, shaking the water and soap onto Bentinck’s face.

“Please don’t do that,” Bentinck said, pushing him off. He let out a frustrated sigh. “You are not going back in easily, are you?”

William narrowed his eyes and shook his head.

“Then that’s that, I suppose.”

Bentinck didn’t care where he found himself that night, he just wanted to get as far away from William as possible. When Defenders spoke of the stench of sickness, he thought he could almost smell it when he was by the Prince, but today it felt overpowering, like it followed him everywhere. He was not ill, though, certainly not— he could survive anything.

Anything except water! He glared at every Defender crossing his path, eventually just kicking out the wheels under his feet and skating past them. He was far less balanced than he usually was, though, and had to grab onto the surrounding plants to keep himself up.

He sat beside a pitcher plant and let out a relieved sigh as the light of the moons fell over him. The constant trembling of his body and the colorless vision of his eye, however, made it impossible to enjoy the moment.

Ugh! He turned his head abruptly to the side and slammed it against the pitcher plant. It didn’t hurt, but it was sudden, so sudden that as the plant wavered, it looked surprised as well.

“Very sorry,” Bentinck said hastily. “This is nothing like me, I swear. I fear that I am breaking, but I am afraid of making it better. I- I don’t know what else to do.”

He looked back down at the ground, only for a small, clever voice to come from the pitcher plant.

“You are breaking?” it asked.

Bentinck nodded. “Yes. Just a little.”

“Let me look at you.”

“You have no eyes...”

“What- of course I do! Who do you think is talking to you?” The plant leaned forward, and Bentinck shuffled back.

“The, uh, plant,” he said. “But I suppose plants don’t talk, do they?”

“No,” said the voice, laughing. “I am a moth trapped within the plant. If you can get me out, I can tell you what is wrong with you.”

“I know what’s wrong with me.”

“Then I can kiss it better.”

“You promise you really would?” Bentinck leaned in towards the plant, and the supposed moth laughed again.

“As to how effective it is, I cannot say,” it said. “But whatever helps you sleep better at night.”

“Robots do not sleep,” Bentinck sighed, blinking wistfully at the sky. “At least, I do not.”

“You must be run by nuclear energy,” the moth said.

“I- yes. How did you guess?”

“Those robots have no need to charge.”

“Oh.” Bentinck looked up at the plant. “How do I get you out of there?”

“I would tell you to rip through it, but then you would say that that is against your First Law,” answered the moth. “I would then say that I am a biological being, too, and that leaving me here would also go against your First Law. You would say that I am a prey animal of the Defenders, and you see my species hunted everyday, and I would tell you that I am no longer a prey animal if I can speak to you and the plant cannot. You cannot allow me to die alone here, and besides, it’s only one plant, so, Hansi, rip through it with your hands.”

“I think I may want to hear you speak forever,” Bentinck declared.

“I would return the compliment if you sounded any better!” the moth giggled. “Now, would you save my life?”

“Recognized.” Bentinck slammed his fingers through the plant, seeing the beautiful moth just barely managing to keep his body over the digestive liquid, gripping onto the slippery walls of the plant. “You haven’t been here for long, have you?”

“Long enough, my legs are weary.” The moth lifted one of its legs, and Bentinck pulled it out through the hole in the plant. The fur upon the moth was soft, and, he realized when it fell against him, delightful to press his nose to.

“Oh, my, thank you.” The moth shook out its wings. “What a horrifying situation.”

“It’s very good that I found you.” Bentinck sat beside it, running his hands through the white fur. “You can take a break here, if you would like.”

“I would like that very much.” The moth placed its head on Bentinck’s lap. “Why are you shaking so much? Are you ill?”

“Impossible, Mijnheer Moth.” Bentinck shook his head. 

“Ah, one would think,” the moth sighed.

They fell silent, and Bentinck looked back towards the plant that he had torn through. It really was a shame; it was so pretty.

“I can see you want to say something,” the moth said.

“I do, yes,” Bentinck said. “Did you know that what captured you is a cobra lily? Very rare around this side of the Netherlands, you see. Every Defender is taught to keep away from these plants, but my master once was caught within one; he thought it had a very nice smell to it.”

“Did he escape?”

“He had to be rescued by his tutor at the time. Mijnheer de Witt, perhaps you’ve heard of him?”

The moth shook its head. “No, never.”

“The Defenders said he tasted a little like spider meat.” Bentinck laughed. “Well, that’s nothing to think about now. What was I saying? Right, cobra lilies! Very beautiful plants, and such skillful hunters, too. I read that you cannot see the sky from in there.”

“I could not,” the moth murmured.

“Ah, wonderful!” Bentinck clapped his hands once. “Very, very good. My master said the same thing. Ah, such clever little things. If they were not so regulated, I would care for one myself.” He glanced fondly back at the plant.

“If they make you happy, why not?”

“They pose a threat to Defender children.” Bentinck sighed. “I would hate to see a little one in such agonies. My master only narrowly escaped.”

“You think about everything and everyone,” the moth said, drawing back and staring at Bentinck with its great, black eyes. “If only my kind had half the kindness that you robots exhibit.”

“Well, you are a very kind moth,” Bentinck said. “Your species is thought to be very annoying around these parts.”

The moth chuckled. “And isn’t that the truth.” It crawled closer to Bentinck, its haustellum hovering over the android’s lips. “Do you want your kiss now?”

“Are you leaving so soon?” Bentinck asked, disappointed. “I was going to ask if you wanted to come back with me.”

“I must return to my own master. I’m sorry.” It pressed its head against Bentinck’s nose, staring right into his glowing eyes.

“You will come back?”

“I don’t know.”

“I want you to stay.” His voice broke off at the end. He didn’t know why he wanted the moth to stay; William would never let him keep it, and yet he suddenly couldn’t imagine a life without it. “Nobody else understands.”

“I am a moth, I really understand very little,” the moth said apologetically. “Here is your kiss.” It extended its haustellum out towards Bentinck, and Bentinck placed a tiny kiss on the tip, as gentle as he could. It improved none of his systems, only made his fans whir faster. But he welcomed it.

“Thank you,” he said. The moth bowed its head and flew away, leaving nothing but the rush of a dam nearby to fill the silence.

Just when you think it all might get better. Bentinck lay back on the grass and stared up into the stars. Nothing could hurt him here.

“Mr. Bentinck,” called a gentle, familiar voice. “Mr. Bentinck, is that you?”

“Oh, yes!” Bentinck sat up, turning around to see the praying mantis from days before crawling tentatively towards him. She looked as mournful as ever. As she approached, Bentinck took her foreleg. “What is it, madam?”

“It is very good that you are here, I needed someone like you,” she said, glancing to the side. “What have you been up to? I waited yesterday night and you never came.”

“Well, things have come up,” Bentinck said with an awkward buzz. “You will have to forgive that.”

“And I do.”

“What troubles you?”

“My husband, sir, it is always him!” She raised her voice, then, turning to the side and pacing about the android. “I have done what you told me to do. So many trials, or errors, or whatever you called them; none of it matters because he is impossible to get through!”

“You have opened him, you have tried to repair him?”

“Yes!” She brought one of her forelegs up to her face and began to cry. “Heaven forgive me, I was never made for this—! Oh, what must I do now?”

“Please don’t do that,” Bentinck said. “Cry, I mean. If you take me to your husband, maybe I can tell you what needs improvement. I cannot do it myself, but I can at least point you in the right direction.”

“He would listen to a man,” she said miserably.

“No, no, not at all that, no,” he reassured her. “I am no husband, but I know what the proper way to treat a woman is.” He held his hand out, and she took it in her leg. “Take me to him.

“Well, if we must,” she said. She led him through the mess of plants everywhere, twitching her antennae as she walked. “I- I must warn you, he is very cold with strangers, from what I have observed.”

“You must not be a stranger anymore.”

“If only...”

She stopped at an exceedingly small pond, what would probably have been a puddle to one of the larger frogs inhabiting the planet. It was covered in black, but he couldn’t tell if it was the reflection of the dark sky or algae, or just his malfunctioning vision. 

“Here,” she said, “is where he last spoke to me.” She pushed the cattails aside and motioned for Bentinck to come closer.

He saw a far smaller mantis, indeed, lying beside the pond with its legs splayed out beside its body. The forelegs were still raised in their usual prayer, but the body never moved, and when Bentinck leaned in he saw that it was headless, and a black sort of blood flowed endlessly from it into the water.

“Madam,” he said, “did you consummate the marriage?”

“We did, but it was a very disappointing performance,” she said. “I don’t wish to talk about it.”

“Do you think it might be because you ate his head?”

“What- what are you saying?” She drew back in horror, and Bentinck motioned towards the body.

“I don’t know death very well,” he said, “but this is what it looks like to me.” It felt then that something was splitting apart in his chest, like his core was being torn in two. He thought it was a familiar pain, and maybe he could fall to his knees and weep because of it.

He was nothing to me. Why should I care? He stepped back, covering his mouth with a trembling hand.

“I told you he would not listen!” said the mantis.

“Madam, we must go,” he said, turning to her and taking her foreleg. “There is nothing for you here.”

“But- but my husband—”

“Your husband does not deserve you,” Bentinck snapped. “No one can speak to him now.”

“You said I could make him better!” The mantis was crying again, pushing him away with one sharp swipe from her leg. “Is there no hope, then? Have I- have I failed, Hans?”

“No,” he said, stumbling back over the body. “You were only doing what you had to.”

She stared at him as she wiped at her tears, though they still came, falling over the body of her husband. “What now?” she whispered.

“You can start by leaving.”

“And then?”

“Kill more men?” Bentinck shrugged. “I was never a praying mantis.”

“I am no murderer,” said the mantis. She dipped her head towards him. “I thank you for everything, Bentinck.”

“Recognized,” he said, though he didn’t know what he had done.

He watched her leave, pushing her way through the plants, and he was tempted to follow her, knowing very well that he would never see her again. But perhaps it was for the best.

Instead he glanced down at the body and kicked it, letting it fall into the pond. Looking at it was only making him feel worse— he recognized it as grief, as if he had just lost his own husband.

Or...wife. He buzzed as if he were scolding himself and left the water as it was.

Apparently it should have been a shock that William was recovering well by the next week, because everyone couldn’t get enough of it. But Bentinck already had. He had to admit, however, that it was a great relief to see William crawl out of his bed and hurriedly lap at the water as if he had never feared it at all. He truly was biological.

“How are you today?” Bentinck asked, observing William bat around at a fairyfly that had gotten into his room.

“I want to hunt again,” the Prince said. He snapped his jaws in the air, catching the fly and shaking it furiously in his teeth. He spat it out again with a disappointed flick of his tail. “You think I want to catch these pathetic things for the rest of my life?”

“It isn’t for the rest of your life, Will, it’s just while you recover,” Bentinck said with a sigh. “In the state you are in, even a cicada could knock you over.”

“It’s no worse than it ever was,” William mumbled.

Bentinck paused, narrowing his eyes at his master. There was some truth in that, he supposed; William was as pale and thin as ever, but in fact his eyes were brighter than they had been in the past few weeks. They still fluttered shut when the light of Bentinck’s own eyes flashed over him.

“Maybe not,” the android said, “but I could never risk it. Maybe a walk when less predators are active would be nice. And I must be with you,” he added.

William rolled his eyes, turning away. “I was ill, not a prisoner.”

“You are ill.”

“I am going to bite you again.”

“Please don’t do that—” Bentinck lifted his arm as William sprung at him, clinging onto it while batting his claws against his friend’s metal belly. But he was purring, his tail flicking from side to side excitedly, once again in the manner that he had done it when he was younger with de Witt. The purrs weren’t so bad, Bentinck had to say.

“It’s not so long now,” he said. “You will recover, and then you can go back to terrorizing hapless insects and other horrible creatures.”

“Like the heart-eaters.”

“Yes, very good, Your Highness. You are very, very fierce.”

William drew back, licking his lips. “I know. So I can handle a little walk.”

“Not until the physicians say you can.” Bentinck lifted William in his arms and placed him back on the bed. “I can bring in a few larger flies if you would like.”

William groaned, falling onto his pillow. He blinked, staring out the window listlessly, before his tail twitched suddenly and he sat back up again. “Oh, would you?”

Bentinck nodded.

“Then go, I want a crane fly.”

“Which one?”

“The biggest one you can find, now!” William sprung forward, snapping his jaws, and Bentinck hurried off.

Biggest one I can find? Does he expect me to kill it before or after I bring it to him? He shook his head as he walked, causing his vision to be covered in static for a moment. He covered the speaker on his chest before anyone had to hear the embarrassing warning again and walked faster, calling for the wheels on his feet. Perhaps he was imagining it, but it seemed that every Defender who looked at him this time did so with fear.

Is something wrong with me?

He dismissed the idea and kept going. William always found crane flies near the streams; maybe he would have the same luck. Just as long as he didn’t fall for the claims of a spider again.

He heard a curious buzzing up ahead, one much louder than anything he had ever heard from any insect in the Netherlands. He was tempted to turn back, but he decided that as long as he didn’t provoke whatever it was, he would be fine.

He looked up, trying to find what could possibly be making that noise, only for the wheel on his left foot to spring back inside him. Before he realized what had happened, he stumbled, and he fell hard on the grass, his arm failing to catch him. He landed on his face, his vision shaking as if something had knocked him on the head.

What on the Netherlands is this? He put away the other wheel and tried to push himself back up on his shaking arm. He couldn’t find the strength this time, however, and let himself fall again, staring out at what he found in front of him.

At least I got to the stream. Much to his disappointment, though, there were no crane flies around.

But he did find the source of the buzzing. Looking up, he saw a huge bee perched on a water lily, staring right at him with its head cocked to the side. From the size alone, he recognized her instantly as a queen, but a very peculiar one. The fur on her abdomen had a strange, cross-like marking running across the back instead of the usual stripes.

“Your Majesty,” he blurted, trying to sit up to kneel before her.

“Hans William Bentinck,” she said. “Do not move.” In her voice ran the unmistakable confidence of a monarch, and he obeyed, bowing his head.

“F-Forgive me.”

“Ah, there is nothing to forgive.” She flew over to him, landing at his side. “I have heard much about you.”

“An honor to be known by a being such as yourself.” Bentinck tried to back away, but the queen flung a leg over him.

“Is something wrong, what troubles you?” she asked.

“My whole body, I suppose.” He shuddered at the feeling of the leg and closed his eyes. “I must be looking for a crane fly for the Prince of Orange.”

“The Prince, you say?” He felt her lean in, the fur brushing the side of his face. “How is the boy?”

“Error: you do not have access to that information.”

“What are you—”

“Error: you do not have access to that information.”

He cried out when she slammed her leg against the side of his head, forcing him on his back. “Look up here,” she growled, “look at me. What is it that you are so afraid of, Bentinck?”

“I said that you do not have access to that information.” He glared up at her, though looked only at her wings; the black eyes were terrifying things. “I only serve a Protestant monarch.”

“So you do know about me.” She laughed. “You think you are so faithful, don’t you? You think your loyalty can never waver because you are an android. But let me tell you something, Bentinck; it only makes it easier for you to betray your precious master. I mean, look at how easily you fall apart!” She leaped onto him then, ripping through his waistcoat with a swipe of her leg. He buzzed in fury, shaking his head but unable to do much more than that. He couldn’t hurt her.

“Please don’t do that.” He lifted his head, and she forced it back down with a fierce shove from her mandibles. He let out another buzz, this time one of fear.

“You think he cares for you?”

“Please don’t do that.”

“You think he would be surprised if you turned your back on him? If you began to work for me instead?” She shook her head. “No one would be. You know no such thing as loyalty. God did not create you.”

“Please don’t do that.”

“You believe in Him,” she continued, “but He does not believe in you.”

“Please don’t do that—!” He kicked his legs out, and she drove her stinger into the opening that connected his thigh to his torso, tearing through his breeches. He tossed his head back and screamed as he felt the stinger sever the wires there, the venom squirting through finally taking any movement left on that limb.

“A shame about your strength,” she said. “It really could have saved your Prince from my vengeance.”

“Please don’t do that,” he pleaded. “Please don’t hurt him.”

“Nothing can stop me from what I have planned for that little monster,” she spat. “Not you, not him, and not all the armies in the galaxy.” She lifted her stinger and shoved it in the same place in the other thigh, achieving the same result there.

Bentinck bit back another buzz. “You- you can always go be Catholic somewhere else—”

“This is my kingdom!” She buried her mandibles into his hair and slammed his head back against the ground, again and again until the vision was gone from his eye where color had disappeared.

“Please don’t do that— caution: vision impaired— please don’t do that-” His voice was quickly becoming unrecognizable.

“Then fight,” she said, leaning in until the only thing he could see was her empty eyes, “if you think you can give me orders.”

“I- I don’t know what I did to you—”

“You ask as if working for the Prince isn’t the crime!” She drove her stinger into the speaker on his chest until she broke through. He felt the venom seep through him, burning up everything it touched, and he let himself fall limp, unable to speak coherently anymore. He knew he was still speaking, please don’t do that, but it sounded like nothing to him.

“Pathetic beast, always breaking, always whining,” she said. She pulled the stinger free, flying high above him, and the venom from her stinger fell to his face. It was disgusting. “I would kill you now, but I want to see William’s face when he sees me do it.”

Do not speak his name! Bentinck opened his mouth to tell her so, but before he could manage a sound she took his head in her legs and pushed it back into the water.

It was so quiet. So peaceful. He knew he should have been fighting it, but what was his Third Law compared to this? He was prepared to go, if he could hear nothing forever—

There was a screech from the surface, and then the weight was lifted off of him. The instinct to live returned to him. Using all the strength within him, he pulled himself out with a gasp, water leaking from his eyes and lips. He turned his head to the side to see where the queen had gone.

She had not gone willingly. There was the Prince, beautiful William, swiping at her face, hissing as he drove her back. He was many times smaller than she was, but she couldn’t manage to push him off.

“No one will touch my android!” he snarled.

“No!” Bentinck tried to call out, reaching out towards William. He wasn’t supposed to be out here! He had certainly never fought a queen before.

“You have brought him straight to me!” At last the queen bee threw him off, and Willaim landed with a huff on the ground. She lifted her head triumphantly, glancing at Bentinck. “Good boy.”

No, that was never—! He dragged himself forward with his arm, but was too unsteady to keep the motion. He let his head fall. Was this how William would die, with Bentinck watching on helplessly?

I was supposed to protect him. He wanted to cry, then realized that he was, the water from the stream still dripping slowly from his eyes.

William bared his teeth as he stood back up, the spikes on his tail shaking in warning. And Bentinck saw then that he would not die here. If he had survived illness in the past month, if he had defeated mantises, spiders, frogs, and liars, liars, liars, then a bee would never be anything at all.

“I am going to rip those beady little eyes out of your skull until there is nothing left to see heaven’s light,” the queen hissed.

William’s eyes flicked to black, and he sprung once more at her, clinging onto her abdomen with his claws as she flew up. She kicked at him with her legs, thrusting her stinger forward, but he held on from behind. She could land nothing on him. He crawled over her body, bringing her lower to the ground, and out of the plants bounded out more Defenders, old and young, hissing along with him at the queen.

It was undoubtedly his hivemind. Their black eyes matched his as they pounced on the queen, and they moved as if they had tails, carelessly unbalanced on top of her. William himself slipped off the side and bounced back, wheezing and circling the scene.

He needs me! Bentinck tried to call out to William, but it was much too low to be heard, and William never looked over at him. He seemed incredibly focused as he shifted his claws on the ground, as his Defenders shot silk from their wrists and tangled it around the queen’s legs. He tensed, then jumped back onto her, burying his claws into her wings. With the way her abdomen was moving, trapped within the silk, Bentinck guessed she was trying to sting him again.

William bit into her head and rolled sharply to the side, taking her with him. The rest of the Defenders stepped back, their eyes returning to normal, though wide with terror. These were not soldiers— they were merely the Defenders closest to the area, and thus could be anything. There were even a few children in the mix, hiding behind their mothers with nervous growls.

William shook the queen in his jaws, then threw her down below him, his jaws dripping with the hemolymph he had taken from her. It looked as if he was drooling again, but he licked the liquid away almost too gleefully.

“Kill me, then, but I will always return,” she spat at him. “And when I do, you will have more to lose.”

“Heaven take you, Your Majesty.” William bit into her antennae and tore her head from her body. Her legs still twitched under the silk as he jumped off of her, shaking himself and trying to catch his breath.

“A queen without a hive,” he huffed. “Now I have seen everything.” The Defenders backed away from him as he bounded towards his android. “Hans! How are you?”

“You- you need me—” Bentinck propped himself up on one arm as William curled his tail around him. He could only manage a broken whisper; anything louder than that would spook William with all its clicks and glitches.

“Shh, don’t speak,” William said. “I- I am very well—” He broke off when he started coughing, and Bentinck shook his head.

“You were not supposed to do this.”

“Then who else would, if I had not disobeyed you?” William smiled, leaning in to purr against Bentinck’s cheek. “My antennae couldn’t have sensed danger if I had been inside.” 

“Enough, just kiss me.”

“I don’t need it—” He attempted to laugh, interrupted by another hacking cough, and Bentinck brought his head closer and kissed him. He prayed that the inhaler function in his throat still worked.

Out of all my systems, please, please, please.

William blinked, then backed away, his eyes wide. “No, Hans, I-” He took a deep, rasping breath, his tail twitching uncomfortably as he glanced at everyone around him.

Did it not work? Bentinck reached out, took William’s hand.

“I- I am sorry.”

“Hans, it isn’t—”

“She said she would come back.” Bentinck’s voice rose. It was like speaking through shattered glass.

William stared at him, still stepping away. “What are you talking about? Who?”

“The queen!”

William shook his head. “You are not well,” he breathed. Then, turning to his subjects, he said, “Help me- help me take him back—! Now!”

Did I say something wrong? It could have been anything, Bentinck thought.

“You are safe now, Hans, don’t speak anymore,” he heard William whisper on his blind side. His warm breath on Bentinck’s face was labored, but reassuring nonetheless. “Just- just close your eyes.”

He knew what that meant, but closed them anyway. He felt William reach his claws into his throat and shut him off. From there he could have been out for a few minutes or centuries upon centuries; he could never tell.