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Beatrice knew she was a princess, for her mother was Queen Bee. Beatrice had hatched out along with all the other tiny eggs, but even as a larva she had a strong feeling of destiny. She longed for the time when she would be Queen Bee, even though she was aware that would mean her mother the queen had died, for there can only be one queen in a beehive.

Meanwhile, Beatrice practised being queen. She put on airs and graces. She strutted as much as her tiny legs would let her. She fluttered her wings to impress the workers. And she buzzed loudly to impress the drones, the male bees.

As the other larvae began to grow up into workers, they moaned at Beatrice. "You're so lazy, Beatrice," they hummed. "We do all the work. You just lie there and preen yourself, while we're so busy making honey."

Beatrice turned her back and flashed her sting at them. She felt it was beneath her to speak to the workers, but she wanted them to be aware of her power. After all, she was a princess and one day would be queen, while they were only workers.

Beatrice grew fat on nectar from her favourite plants in the garden, but she still refused to work. While the workers were busy constructing new cells out of beeswax, and cleaning up the hive, Beatrice rested alone, by herself. She was a little lonely, but she was too proud to seek for friends, and she was much too posh to visit the new part of the hive to see how the work was going. So she spent her time dreaming of being queen, and of all the eggs she would produce.

But after a week or two, Beatrice began to feel very tired. She couldn't understand it. She knew worker bees only lived for a few weeks, but the queen could live for several years. What was the matter with her?

Then, to her horror, Beatrice saw the drones gathering round another honeybee. It was a bee Beatrice had ignored, for she thought it was a worker. But now when she looked, Beatrice could see this honeybee was larger than all the rest, even larger than fat Beatrice herself.

Beatrice couldn't help herself. She had to know who the honeybee was. So she lowered herself to speak to a passing worker. "Who's that?" she asked.

The worker stared. "Don't you know? That's Bethany, our new Queen. The old queen has died. We're working now for Bethany, and waiting for her to produce new eggs and larvae."

"But - but - " stammered Beatrice, "surely I'm the new queen? The old queen was my mother, so I must be a princess."

The worker shook with silent bee laughter. "The old queen was mother to all of us - didn't you know that? You're no more a princess than I am! You're infertile, like us. You'll never be able to produce any eggs, so you can't be a queen. You're a worker bee, Beatrice, but you're no good. You've wasted your life, pretending to be better than the rest of us, and you've nothing to show for it. Now, like the rest of us, your life is coming to an end. And you don't even know how to make honey!"

Poor Beatrice. She felt so ashamed. She crawled out of the hive and hid in the petals of her favourite flower, and there she waited to die. But just before her life ended, she felt so very sorry for her foolish pride, that some of the workers came with her, to keep her company. "We sisters must keep together," they said. And for the first time in her life, Beatrice was happy, and glad to be just an ordinary bee with no airs or graces at all.