The Crimson Crown

As much as I hated to admit it, perhaps my newfound husband's suggestion of wearing a diaper on my wedding day had some merit. As we were led to the dining hall, either nerves or breakfast had caught up with me, and my bladder was beginning to ache. A cursory glance downward at the billowing gown around me had me dreading trying to get through all the lace and frills to be able to relieve myself, but, alas, it was not an issue for me even if I had truly wanted to. 

We stopped before the dining hall, a brief reprieve from the festivities and a comparatively secluded location; I relaxed, letting my bladder soak into my diaper. I felt my cheeks turning red, their heat reflecting off the thin layer of makeup, but not one person commented. I doubted even Dorian and his interests or skill could tell what I was doing beneath these layers. 

We entered the grand dining hall, hand in hand, a wave of applause and cheers sweeping through the space, echoing off the high, vaulted ceilings. The hall was glorious, adorned with rich tapestries in crimson and gold. Long tables, covered with pristine white linens and overflowing with the finest diminishes, stretched from one end of the hall to the other, each table adorned with flickering candles and lush floral arrangements.

Overhead, massive chandeliers cast a warm, golden glow, their countless crystals sparkling like stars. Musicians stationed at the far end of the hall strike up a celebratory tune, the lively notes of strings and flutes filling the room with energy and joy. Servants moved gracefully among the guests, pouring wine and offering delicacies, while nobles and dignitaries raised their goblets in a toast to us as we passed. As we made our way down the center aisle, guests rose from their seats, bowing deeply or raising their cups in salute. The air was thick with celebration, the scent of roasted meats, spice wine, and freshly baked bread mingling with the perfume of flowers.

At the head of the room stood our table, elevated on a dais and adorned with the most lavish of settings. Golden chargers, delicate porcelain, and intricately carved goblets awaited us. Behind the table, a grand tapestry displayed the royal crest, a subtle reminder of my new position within the kingdom. As we approached our seats, Dorian paused, glancing at me with a reassuring smile before we turned toward our guests. The applause rose again, and we bowed together, a symbol of gratitude and mutual respect. Taking our seats, we were surrounded by the warmth of our people’s cheers, music, and the promise of a new chapter together. 

Our meal was a lavish feast fit for a royal celebration, beginning with an array of appetizers, freshly baked bread infused with herbs, delicate pastries filled with source cheeses, and bowls of vibrant fruits. The main courses featured succulent roasted meats, including venison and pheasant, seasoned with exotic spices and rich gravies. Platters of steamed vegetables, honey-glazed roots, and buttery potatoes were on the tables. Fine wines and sweat mead flowed freely, our meal ending with an assortment of sweets, honey cakes, candied nuts, and fruit tarts.

As our meal concluded, musicians took up a softer tune as Dorian ruse, taking my hand and leading me to the open floor for our first dance as husband and wife. Stepping onto the open floor at the center of the hall, we faced each other, our hands meeting as the music swelled. The melody was soft and romantic, a blend of gentle flutes and sweeping strings. We began to move, and I praised my mother for forcing me to take dancing lessons. The bulky gown I wore, along with the thick, wet padding between my legs, made my moves cumbersome and clumsy, although I did my best to look graceful and elegant. The world seemed to blur around us for the time as if we were the only two in existence. The soft swish of my gown, the warmth of Dorian’s touch, and the rhythm of music wove together into a smooth harmony. The guests around us watched in silence, entranced, before breaking into applause as our dance drew to a graceful close.

As we left the floor, the musicians struck up another tune, couples stood and took the stage as we moved from table to table, and guests offered us words of congratulations. I felt as if my cheeks were going to be stuck in a permanent smile. It was truly exhausting work, meeting every guest, yet Dorian was insistent. I glanced up towards the next table, my heart fluttering as I saw my own family sitting there. The air felt charged with a mix of emotions, familiarity, pride, and a touch of bittersweet. My parents rose from their seats, their eyes reflecting the weight of the moment. My father’s expression was proud but reserved, his jaw set with the strength of a father both letting go and bearing witness to his daughter’s new life. My mother’s eyes glistened with tears, her hands clasped together.

I felt a swell of love and longing as our gazes met, and for a moment, I was no longer the bride or even a princess; I was simply their daughter. My father stepped forward first, his eyes searching mine with a mix of pride and tenderness. “You honor us, daughter,” he said, his voice low but steady. 

My fathered clasped my hand, his gentle, squeezing gentle, and for an instant, the formality of the moment melted away, leaving only the bond between father and daughter. My mother stepped closer, embracing me tightly, whispering words meant only for my ears. “You are radiant, my child. Never doubt your strength nor the love that binds us.” 

As we parted, my mother’s eyes lingered on Dorian, regarding him with a measured intensity before giving a small, approving nod. “Take care of her,” she told him, her voice soft but persistent. “Together, you both carry the hopes of many.”

Dorian, respectful and composed, bowed deeply, “I vow to honor her and our union,” he replied, sincerity shining in his eyes.

There was a moment of silence, heavy with unspoken words before my siblings stepped up, my sister Emily among them, her face alight with a mix of pride and mischief. “You’ve never looked more like a princess,” Emily teased, though her voice cracked slightly with emotion.

The warmth of my family surrounded us, and a light laughter broke the tension of the moment before we moved on to the next table. While I greeted each guest with a queenly smile and kind words, I was no longer focusing on them, my eyes glancing toward my family and the life I was leaving behind. That short interaction with Dorian and my family held more weight for me than the rest of the ceremony. It had been more than just my family coming to congratulate me; it was to see me off. I had spent every day of my life with them, from waking morning to sleeping at night. I had been with them, and now, trapped in a foreign land, I would only be able to see them on occasion. While I was born an Eldenhart, my family lineage forever, I couldn’t help but feel as if that chapter of my life was coming to a close. The subtle nods of approval my folks had given Dorian had been as if they were well and truly giving me away. 

I fought the tears that threatened to ruin my makeup; my mind could no longer focus on each guest; I was too caught up in the whirlwind of emotions that threatened to burst the dam of strictness I had built. Dusk had begun to fall after the countless hours we spent talking with our guests, earning blessings and congratulations, a soft, golden light bathing the castle grounds. The air hummed with quiet anticipation as touches were lit along a winding pathway through the gardens, their flames flickering and dancing in the gentle evening breeze. The wedding procession was a time-honored tradition in Dorian’s family, symbolizing a couple’s first steps into their new life together.

Dorian led the way, his hand holding mine, his presence serene yet commanding. The prince’s dark cloak flowed behind him while my gown caught the light of each touch we passed, making me appear almost ethereal. Our footsteps were slow deliberate, savoring each moment of this sacred walk. The guests, arranged in respectful lines on either side of the path, held torches high or carried lanterns, their faces glowing with admiration and hope. The sound of soft music filled the air, taken by the gentle strains of flutes. Each note mingled with the rustle of leaves and the crackle of flames, creating a symphony that felt timeless. Flowers were scattered at our feet by children who darted in and out of the procession, their laughter mingling with the murmurs of the guests.

We passed through the garden arches covered in blooms. As we moved, a breeze carried the scent of spring blossoms. At the end of our procession, we paused before a grand stone altar carved with the symbols of the Four Winds; Father Aelindor stood, illuminated by the surrounding torches. He raised his staff and called forth a final blessing, his words carried by the wind and amplified by the hushed awe of those gathered. As the blessing concluded, the crowd cheered, and we turned to face our people as a unified front, our silhouettes framed by the firelight and gathering stars. 

We were ushered down the path, flanked by torches as the cool night air licked our skin, the warmth of the crowd keeping us warm. I was a bit surprised as we were led back inside the castle and to our chambers, the last of the guests lingering outside in the garden before we were finally free, the embrace of silence a welcoming one as we entered our room, my attendants following and shutting the doors behind us. 

My diaper had swollen more since dinner; the pressing need had overtaken me as we stood in the garden. I was once again thankful for Dorian's foresight, even if it had been at the expense of my dignity. My attendants stepped up behind me, their fingers delicate as they pulled the strings of my gown loose. I took a long, deep breath as the constricting nature of the bodice relinquished its hold on me, the dress coming up and over my head once more. 

The reprieve was short-lived as I remembered what I had on underneath, although I noticed immediately that Dorian had disappeared from the room as I was undressed. “Where did my husband go?” I asked. 

“He has gone to clean up, your grace,” Morris said, ushering me towards the bathing chamber I had first visited upon arriving. 

I nodded, letting them pull me in, bringing wash clothes forward to cleanse my face and body, although I noticed a distinct lack of removing my diaper. “Am I to receive a bath?” I asked. 

“Not yet, your grace,” Morris said, offering no further detail. 

I gritted my teeth; if I wanted any information, I'd be forced to ask for it, apparently. “Then what's the purpose of this?” I asked as my face was scrubbed clean.

Morris cocked an eyebrow; perhaps I was already supposed to know, “The bedding ceremony, your grace, we are preparing you for it.”

I felt my cheeks burn brightly suddenly as the realization took hold. I was being groomed and pampered like a goose for roasting. I was to be dressed and made presentable for my husband's enjoyment. 

“Ohh,” I responded weakly, mortified at the realization. 

The girls smiled, perhaps at my innocence, presenting a plethora of clothing. My arms were raised as a delicate, white, see-through dress was pulled over them, its hem grazing the top of my diaper but keeping it on display. I had been expecting more, but the girls stopped, stepping back. 

I glanced down at myself, mortified to be dressed as I was. “You both can't be serious.” I stated, “I can't go to him looking like this; this is ridiculous.”

Morris offered me a small smile, “It was his suggestion, your grace.”

I gritted my teeth. Even now, Dorian has found ways to control me and my outfit. A part of me was annoyed, but an even bigger part of me was curious to know why he had chosen to dress me like this. A bedding ceremony would imply that I would not need undergarments of any kind. I felt my heart skip a beat at that thought. 

I swallowed, suddenly nervous. “Morris?” I asked, “Dorian mentioned you served his mother before me, correct?”

The woman nodded, “I did, your grace.”

“Were you in her service on her wedding day?” I asked.

“I was.” She responded, giving me a curious look. 

I glanced down at my outfit, my cheeks burning, “What exactly am I walking into?” I asked, glancing towards the doors to our bed chamber. 

Morris smiled warmly, placing a hand on my arm delicately, “Your grace, he's going to make you feel like a queen.” She said, her eyes sparkling. 

I felt a nervous shiver traveling through my body. The thin dress would have made me feel attractive in almost any other setting, but with the bulging, squishy diaper between my legs, I felt anything but. I shook my head, fighting back emotions, “I can't do it, not like this.” I said, my voice cracking under the emotional strain I felt. 

Morris stepped closer, her delicate touch lifting my chin, so our eyes met, “Your grace, you've seen the outfits other women wear to bed, their see-through, sexy lingerie?” She asked. 

I nodded weakly, Morris’s fingers lightly tapping my padded crotch, “To him, this looks like lingerie.”

“But how? It's a storming baby diaper!” I exclaimed, my voice seeming weak and subservient. 

“To him, it isn't,” Morris said, her voice soft and delicate as if catering her words to explain a basic topic to a child. “If he truly doesn't see you as attractive, if he truly thought you would look better in something else, you would be wearing it right now. He purposely chose this outfit, diapers and all, for you to wear tonight.”

I let her fingers lift my chin, forcing me to meet her eyes. I felt like a child before this woman, and it had nothing to do with my undergarments. I nodded weakly. 

She offered a curt nod, turning me towards the bed chamber. “Go forth and enjoy, my child.” Morris said softly, staying behind as I approached the doors, “If he minds your underwear so much, he will remove it.” 

I felt a fluttering in my chest as I pushed open the doors. The chamber has been transformed, the main lights off, and the room illuminated by soft glowing candles.

Dorian lay there in bed, wearing tight, form-fitting briefs and nothing else. He lay on his side, his head propped up on an arm as he watched me enter, the doors closing ominously behind me. 

I felt the queenly demeanor completely shattered beneath his gaze; the muscles and curves before me were far more attractive than I could ever be, even without a diaper. I felt myself wilt; this was not how I wanted to spend my evening, completely self-conscious and utterly humiliated. Dorian smiled, an encouraging smile, patting the bed beside him, “My Queen.” He said.

With little else to do, I started forward, my feet feeling like they were encased in lead. As I neared, I felt his gaze studying me head to toe. I waited for him to comment, to tell me off about how I was dressed, something, anything! 

But he remained quiet until I was standing before him, his fingers going to my chin and lifting it so our eyes met. “I’ve known since we first started talking that you were beautiful, my queen. As you stand here before me, words can't capture how I feel; they could never accurately capture your true grace. Tonight, I'm going to make you feel as beautiful as I think you are.” He said, sitting up and leaning forward, kissing me deeply.