The Crimson Crown

I awoke the next morning to the sound of rustling in our tent. I peeked a blurry eye to see my attendants busying themselves, getting my outfit ready for the day. I groaned, early morning sunlight streaming in through the thin fabric of the tent, rolling over in bed. The diaper I wore was wet and cold at this point, the tabs were messy, and the entire garment was loose around my hips. I grinned, remembering the events of last night. As much as I disliked diapers, the unquenchable hunger Dorian showed me when I wore them was appealing. I had thought the fun we had in the tub was steamy, but his lust only grew stronger as he diapered me for the night. My sex tingled at the memories, his hands down my diaper, playing with me, stroking me to orgasm more than once, even getting me to wet myself.

I blushed, giggling as I remembered, right before the blankets were pulled back, and I felt hands at my sides. “Come on, your grace,” Morris said, rolling me onto my back. “We got to get you ready for the day.”

I groaned, letting her do the heavy lifting. “But it’s so early,” I whined.

Morris shook her head, “If you had gone right to sleep after your bath, your grace, it would be easier. It’s nearly mid-morning.”

I sighed, letting Morris pull my diaper open, and began the changing process. I still felt shame at the treatment, at being seen like this, but I was slowly coming around to at least these girls and Dorian seeing me in them. Dorian stirred beside me, sitting up and rubbing sleep from his eyes. He gave me a goofy grin, one I returned, blushing; I swear I saw an eye roll from my attendants out of the corner of my eye, but I wasn’t sure. 

“Morning, my princess,” Dorian said, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and standing, his stark naked body making me blush.

“Morning, my prince,” I replied with a grin. 

“You sleep well?” Dorian asked.

“Probably about as well as you did.” I chuckled.

He grinned, gathering a large baby bottle from a storage cabinet, filled to the brim with a bubbly, vanilla-colored liquid, and coming to my side. “Oh, come on, we aren’t in the castle.” I whined, “At least let me have breakfast.”

Dorian smiled and shook his head, offering the bottle to Elara, who promptly brought it to my lips as Morris continued changing me. “As a part of your training, you’re expected to drink at least one per day.” he explained to me, “More so the longer we go. It’s to help show your subservience and willingness to accept your new life, your new position.”

“We could pour it out to make it seem like we did it,” I whined around the nipple of the bottle, begrudgingly accepting it and drinking the warm liquid within. 

“Then what would you eat?” Dorian asked, patting my leg, “It’d raise questions as to why you also needed to eat a full breakfast or why I ate for two. I realize this is hard for you, my princess, but as long as we are being watched and monitored, we have to play by my Father’s rules until we ascend the throne.”

I sighed but reluctantly allowed myself to be fed and changed like the baby they so desperately wanted me to be. Having finished changing me, Morris returned to my outfit for the day, finishing drawing out the imperfections in the cloth layers as Elara fed me. By the time I finished the bottle, I was feeling rather bloated. I never imagined that a bottle could fill me up and make me feel satiated, but it was thick enough that it felt like a meal. Elara leaned me up, patting my back, and I let out an embarrassing belch, making me blush. She smiled and helped me stand as the two of them set to work dressing me. 

Dorian had retreated to his wardrobe and was working to dress himself. The dress they had prepared for me today was made of a soft, sky-blue linen. The bodice was delicately smocked with pale silver threads, forming subtle patterns of leaves and swirls. The neckline was rounded and trimmed with white lace. Short puffed sleeves with small satin bows at the cuffs added a dignified and playful touch. The skirt flared out just below the waist, in a full silhouette, falling just above my knees. The hem was embroidered with a subtle design of tiny wildflowers, and beneath the skirt, a layer of white tulle gave the dress a bounce.

To complete the look, I was fitted with a white pinafore apron over my dress, tied at the back with a wide satin ribbon in royal blue. My feet were fitted with soft leather shoes in a matching sky-blue shade, adorned with tiny silver buckles shaped like leaves. White ankle socks with delicate lace trim peeked out from above the shoes. I was adorned with a small, silver circlet in my hair, with a modest single sapphire at the center. My hair curled gently over my shoulders and kept out of my face with a pair of small, satin ribbons. 

I felt and looked ridiculous. Dorian stood before me in a sharp-looking suit of a similar color but far more mature and regal than mine. I blushed, “Oh come on, why do you get that, and I get this?” I asked indignantly.

“You look absolutely adorable, my princess,” Dorian said, leaning in and planting a kiss on my cheek.

“I don’t want to look adorable.” I said definitely, resisting the urge to stomp a foot, “I want to look like a queen.”

“You are well on your way; this is something a princess in our kingdom would wear.” Dorian said softly, taking my hand, “It’s reminiscent of what a queen would wear but not nearly as stately.” 

I glowered at him, but I had no proof to the contrary. Plus, what else could I do? It wasn’t like I could go rummaging through what had been brought for me in terms of clothing. More than likely, all my outfits would be of a similar design anyway. I grumbled, shaking my head as he pulled me toward the exit to the tent. “Come, my princess.” he said with a gentle smile, “You look fantastic and beautiful; the people are waiting for us; let’s give them a show.”

Dorian’s comments did ease my tension just a tad, but I was still inundated with indignation as we left the tent. As we left the tent, the sun still hung low in the sky, its light casting a hazy, golden glow over the dry fields that surrounded the village. I hadn’t seen them the night prior, given that we arrived at dusk. The land showed the toll of recent hardship; cracked soil stretched between wilted crops, and a faint layer of dust clung to everything. The faint, acrid scent of smoke lingered in the air, evidence of the villagers burning remnants of diseased plants in a desperate effort to salvage what they could. The air was heavy, not only with the heat despite the early morning but also with the unspoken weight of the villager’s struggles. 

The procession was modest but solemn, reflecting the gravity of our visit. Guards in formal yet understated uniforms of crimson and gold flanked us. We walked side by side, our fingers interwoven, our expressions thoughtful and composed, a unified front as we approached the heart of the village. My blue dress swayed softly with each step I took, my silver circle catching the sunlight, and Dorian’s cloak billowed faintly in the light breeze.

Villagers had gathered along the dusty main road, their faces a mixture of curiosity, hope, and wariness. Many were thin, their clothes patched and worn, their cheeks hollowed by sickness and hunger. Yet, they came, leaning on walking sticks, carrying children, or helping one another stand to see their prince and princess. A few mothers lifted their little ones above the crowd, the children’s wide eyes fixed on us as we approached. The dirt road muffled the sound of our footsteps, but the occasional creak of a guard’s armor or the distant cry of a hungry animal broke the silence. As we passed, villagers bowed, some clutching their hands together as if in prayer. Despite their evident hardships, a few managed faint smiles, and one elderly man pressed a gnarled hand to his chest, murmuring a blessing. 

My heart ached as I took in the scene: the barren fields, the pale, sickly faces of the villagers, and the quiet resilience that seemed to hold them together. I glanced at Dorian, who met my gaze briefly with a reassuring nod, his expression firm but empathetic. Together, we moved toward the small square at the center of town, where a simple wooden platform had been erected for us. As we ascended the steps, the villagers gathered closer, their murmurs hushed. The dry wind carried a faint rustling of leaves from the nearby fields, and the dust swirled gently around the platform. I took a deep breath, feeling the weight of their presence and the hope these people had placed on us. At the moment, I resolved to make every word, every action, count for the people standing before me. Beside me, Dorian stood tall, a steady pillar of strength, as we prepared to face the eyes and hearts of our kingdom. 

Dorian stepped forward, his boots pressing softly against the worn wooden planks of the platform. The murmur of the gathered crowd quieted, their faces lifting to him with expressions of hope, desperation, and disbelief. The dry wind carried his first words, his voice steady and clear yet laced with compassion. 

“People of Insbrook,” he began, his eyes scanning the crowd, meeting their weary gazes. “We see your struggle, your strength, and your pain. You have endured far more than should ever be asked of you, fighting against sickness, drought, and hardship that have gripped this land.” 

Dorian paused, allowing the weight of his words to settle. “But you are not forgotten. We stand here today, my princess, and I, as your prince and princess, not only to bear witness to your suffering but to act, to bring aid, and to restore what has been taken from you.”

Dorian lifted his hand, gesturing to the barren fields surrounding the village. “This land, your home, is the lifeblood of our kingdom. Its health, like yours, is vital to us all. And just as the Four Winds are constant, so is our commitment to you. Today, we will call upon the winds, not for ourselves, but for you, for your children, and your future.”

Dorian turned slightly, his eyes meeting mine, drawing strength from my presence. “Together, my princess and I will channel their power, Zephira, Solian, Aridia, and Boreas, to bring life back to where it once flourished.”

The crowd stirred, murmurs of hope rippling through them. Dorian extended a hand toward them, a gesture of inclusion and solidarity. “Let us call upon the Four Winds together and bring life back to this land and to your hearts. You are not alone; we are with you, now and always.” 

Dorian stepped back, turning to me. I nodded, and together, we prepared to channel the Winds; our hands collapsed together, ready to restore the village with the power of nature herself. We stood, hand in hand, at the center of the platform; the air around us seemed to shift. The dry, oppressive wind that had plagued the town grew still, replaced by a soft, expectant silence. We closed our eyes, our breathing synchronized, and together, we called upon the power of Zephira, the gentle Wind of Spring.

A faint breeze stirred, brushing past the villagers like a tender caress. At first, it was almost imperceptible, but then it grew, carrying with it the fresh, unmistakable scent of blooming flowers and damp earth. The breeze swirled around us, lifting the edges of my dress and tousling Dorian’s hair before cascading outward in ripples, spreading through the crowd and beyond. The villagers felt it first, a soothing warmth washing over them, easing their aches and pains, dulling the exhaustion etched into their bones. The elderly straighten their backs, the weight of sickness and hardship lifting. Children who had been frail and listless now laughed and giggled as energy returned to their small bodies, their cheeks flushed with newfound vitality. 

Around us, the effects of Spring’s blessing ripple outward. The cracked, parched soil began to darken as the first hints of moisture seeped into the ground. Blades of grass sprouted from the earth, timid at first, then growing with vigor, their green vibrant against the once-barren land. In the surrounding fields, wilted crops rose as if awakening from a long sleep. Stalks of wheat grew taller and flutter, bursting with golden grains, while fruit trees bloomed with delicate blossoms that quickly transformed into ripening fruits. Animals emerged cautiously from their sheltered, their movements tentative at first. Birds took to the air, their songs filling the newly vibrant landscape. Even the skeletal branches of the streets at the village’s edge came alive, leaves unfurling in lush greens that swayed gently in the breeze.

As the winds carried this renewal further, the sky began to shift. Gray clouds gathered above, not ominous butt promising, their edges tinged with soft light. A single drop of rain fell, followed by another, until a steady, gentle shower descended upon the town. The rain was cool and cleansing, washing away the dust and despair. It seeped into the rejuvenated fields, feeding the freshly sprouted plants and pooling in the troughs and barrels the villagers hurriedly placed outside. The villages watched in awe; their faces turned upward to the rain as they lifted their hands in gratitude. Tears mixed with the raindrops on some faces, the miracle before them too overwhelming for words. They murmured prayers of thanks, some flailing to their knees in reverence as they took in the vibrant transformation of their world.

On the platform, the breeze around us softened, and we opened our eyes, our gazes meeting with a mixture of exhaustion and triumph. The energy of Zephira’s blessing hummed faintly in the air, its work complete. We stepped forward, gazing out at the revitalized village and the grateful faces of its people. An attendant stepped forward with an umbrella, sheltering us as rain cascaded down in gentle sheets. We stepped forward and down from the platform, and the crowd, overcome with gratitude and awe, surged toward us, a sea of faces brightened by smiles and dampened by rain. Some villagers held out their hands in thanks, their words a blend of blessings, praise, and whispered prayers. Their voices rose and fell in waves, a chorus of heartfelt emotions that swirled around us like the very winds themselves. 

Children darted forward, clutching flowers hastily plucked from their now-blooming friends. A young girl in a patched dress shyly offered a bundle of daisies, her cheeks rosy from the rain and excitement. I paused, leaning down to accept the gift with a soft smile, murmuring thanks before being gently ushered forward by the guards. The guards formed a protective barrier, their movements careful but firm as they guided us through the jubilant crowd. Their polished armor gleamed under the rain, a silent testament to their diligence. Despite the villagers’ eagerness, the guards managed to keep the path clear, ensuring we moved steadily toward the camp without incident. 

Dorian walked with calm confidence, our fingers intertwined once more, nodding to those who met his gaze. I held my head high, my smile unwavering as I met the eyes of as many villagers as I could, my heart swelling with the love and hope that radiated from both of us. Each face I saw told a story of struggle, relief, and renewed faith. This was exactly what my mother and father had raised me for, and why it was imparative we see these people. Not only did it renew their beliefs in us, but it humanized them to Dorian and me alike, a constant reminder that the laws and judgments we passed affected not only those we saw but also people like these villagers. 

As we neared the edge of the crowd, the villagers parted reluctantly, their cheers and blessings following us as we stepped onto the quieter path leading to the camp. The umbrella attendant adjusted the angle to keep the rain from our faces while the guards maintained their vigilant formation, now more relaxed as the noise of the village began to fade. When we finally reached camp, the soft sounds of the rain against the tents and the distant hum of the rejuvenated village provided a moment of peace. We exchanged a glance, exhaustion and fulfillment mirrored in our expressions as we stepped into our tent, leaving the rain and the day’s miracles behind, ready to rest and reflect on what we’d accomplished together.