You reawaken 60 hours later.

The sun rise and sets, its light glistening against the honey comb. Having been rendered ****, your body went into instinctual survival. First exploding into honey, then coalescing into a unique honeycomb. Its outer shell a sturdy defense and near impervious to any attack. Inside your form is being recreated, gradually coagulating into your humanoid appearance. You dream of pleasant things, meadows of daisies and dandelions, exquisite festivities, and pollen baths. Your mind and body heal.

60 hours pass before the honeycomb cracks open. Your body is covered head to toe in slick honey. You manage to shake some off. Stretching your arms and legs, you feel limber and somewhat energized. Reconstructing humanoid form at least has the compensation of feeling extremely well rested and rejuvenated.

Then you remember WHO rendered you in such a state. The two men. That snide Jack and brutish Boer. You scrowl. Those bastards. Those fucking bastards. How dare they treat a royal like that, well, at least without permission first! You must decide. Whether or not to seek out vengeance on them...