The Crimson Crown

Despite the threat of being found at any moment, I found it disturbingly easy to soak my diaper as we were led to our quarters. As I did so, I could swear I felt a slight tingling sensation, an almost anticipation building within me, and I unconsciously looked around for Dorian for his praise of using my diaper. Of course, Dorian wasn’t there, and I felt a pang of remorse for that fact, fear gripping my heart; where was he? Was Dorian okay? How could we possibly get out of this horrible situation? My biggest fear was that he was being tortured. Well, it wasn’t my biggest fear, but I wouldn’t entertain the darkest of worries that lingered at the back of my mind; no, Dorian would live, and we would be reunited. 

The private bunk room they were led to was modest but a well-prepared refuge. The walls were constructed of smooth stone, their cool surface illuminated by the warm glow of a few lanterns hung on sturdy iron hooks. The room was small but functional. At the end of the room, three simple wooden bunks were positioned along the wall, each fitted with soft mattresses covered in neatly folded woolen blankets. The bedding was plain but comfortable, designed for long stays if needed. A small nightstand stood between the bunks, holding a pitcher of fresh water, two cups, and a modest oil lamp for softer light. Above the bunks, shelves had been built into the stone walls, stocked with necessities such as clothing, linens, and medical supplies.

Across the bunks was a sturdy wooden chest, unassuming on the outside, but within were hidden provisions the royal family might require. Stocked discreetly were diapers and changing supplies, carefully folded and tucked into one side of the chest. Soft cloths, powders, and creams are stored alongside them. In one corner of the room, a small washing basin was set atop a waist-high stand, with a clean stack of towels folded neatly beside it. A heavy curtain hung nearby, offering a semblance of privacy for changing or freshening up. Opposite the basic, a modest table and two chairs were placed along the wall, their surfaces worn but polished.

As I entered the room, I caught the scent of dried sprigs and lavender tucked into the corner of the room. To my surprise, Morris was there. She stood from her seat at the table, offering a deep curtsy as we entered, “Your graces!” she said with a genuine smile, “It’s good to see you both.”

“Morris!” I exclaimed, “How did you get here?”

“No one minds an old maid.” she chuckled, “I’m glad to see you both made it out.”

“As out as we can be for the moment.” The Queen spoke, “What of our husbands?”

Morris grimaced, “I’m afraid I know as much as our men do, your graces, we haven’t seen either.”

“I’ll allow you two to get comfortable.” The General said with a nod, “If you need anything, we are right down the hall.”

“Thank you, General,” The Queen said, offering him a nod as he ducked out of the room. She turned her attention back to Morris, “What of my attendants? Are they well?”

“They are being held with the rest of the castle’s attendants, your Grace.” Morris responded, “Mostly, they are scared.”

The Queen nodded, “In that case, I know I released you from my service; however, in their absence, I would like to utilize your talents once more.”

Morris nodded, smiling as she stepped toward the Queen, “Of course, your Grace.” she said, pulling the Queen’s dress up to reveal her soggy diapers. Morris glanced at me, “Your Grace, if you will, can you shut the door, please?”

I nodded, blushing slightly at the sight of the Queen as she was disrobed once more and laid down on one of the bunks. Never in all my training had I ever been prepared to see the Queen naked, apart from a thick, heavily soiled diaper around her hips, being laid down for a diaper change. I awkwardly took a seat at the table, keeping my eyes on the woman, but I couldn’t help but glance curiously over periodically.

Morris laid the Queen down, popping the tabs of both diapers and pulling them open. She retrieved changing supplies from the chest and set to work cleaning her. As with me, Morris was very well experienced, and quickly had the Queen changed and into a fresh diaper. She sat the woman up, pulling a simple nightgown over her head. The nightgown was just long enough to cover the Queen’s diaper but not enough to offer true modesty. 

The Queen gave Morris a puzzled look, “Surely there are more modest clothing options available.” she said.

“Of course, your Grace; however, it’s nearing nighttime; we’ll be going to bed soon,” Morris explained.

I had no clue how the woman knew what time of day it was; there was no sunlight in these corridors to indicate the time. I did recall the sun beginning to set prior to us entering the tunnels, however. The explanation seemed enough for the Queen, who nodded and sat up in the bed, leaning against the wall, her frilly pink diaper on full display to me. 

Morris stood and sat on the other bed, the one I presumed to be mine. She turned her attention to me and smiled, patting the bed beside her, “Come, your Grace, let’s get you changed as well.”

I blushed, more so that Morris assumed I needed to change, but also because the Queen was sitting feet away. I knew the Queen had changed me herself, and yet the idea that I would have my diaper changed in front of her seemed almost more humiliating. “I do not need a change,” I stated, blushing.

Morris chuckled, and even the Queen smiled, “I believe you, your Grace, but that’s for me to decide; please come.” she said, patting the bed again.

I sighed, lowering my head as I stood and walked over to her. Morris pulled my dress up, revealing my diaper, and I felt her fingers pressing in, feeling my front and rear, checking me. “I’ll get you changed after dinner,” Morris said, letting my dress fall back into place as she stood.

Morris went to the chest and began rummaging through the supplies. When she produced the two baby bottles, I started to complain again, “There has to be something else for us to eat,” I whined, “What are the soldiers eating? I’m sure they have something.”

Morris shook her head, “Nothing that is befitting a Princess or a Queen,” she stated, filling the bottles with a fine powder before adding warm water from a small kettle, mixing it with cold water from the basin so as to not have it too hot, “Besides, if we are to retake this kingdom, you both are expected to adhere to your training, and I will not be the one flogged for not keeping you both to it.” she said sternly, returning to me.

Morris shook the bottle, mixing its contents before turning it over and testing the heat of each on her wrist. She nodded to herself and offered the bottle to the Queen with a stern look, “Both hands; otherwise, I’ll feed you myself.”

The Queen nodded sheepishly as Morris took a seat beside me. “I can feed myself,” I whined as Morris pulled me into her lap, resting my head in the crook of her elbow.

“Shh,” she silenced me, pressing the nipple of the bottle to my mouth, “relax; it’s time to eat.” 

I sighed but accepted the bottle and began to nurse. The flavor of the bottle seemed off. It still had that sweetness I had grown accustomed to, but it was missing something, and I couldn’t put my finger on it. Perhaps Morris hadn’t added enough powder; it seemed thinner than normal, but I wasn’t about to complain. Despite the thinner formula, it was still thick, and the bottle held a lot. As I lay there, nursing, Morris looked down at me with a loving expression on her face, cradling me as a mother would do with a baby.

I found the experience humiliating. Whereas Dorian made me feel loved and cherished as a woman, Morris made me feel like a child. Her arms had tucked my feet up in a fetal position, making me feel even smaller in her arms as she fed me, rocking me softly. I felt a gurgling in my tummy and groaned, squirming in her arms as I realized I needed to poop. I hated being stuck on formula; I hated being fed these bottles. Not only did they ensure I had more regular movements, it made it far more difficult to hold.

Morris immediately took note, shushing me once more, “Don’t fight it; let it go; I’ll change you right after.” she promised.

That was far easier said than done. Shame burned my cheeks as I avoided Morris’s eyes. I didn’t want to give in; I didn’t want to. But between the liquid diet along some gentle persuasion from Morris, I was not a match for Mother Nature. I groaned, my face scrunching as my body pushed, and I felt the seat of my diaper begin to swell. Morris’s hand was supporting me, holding me, and it now patted my bum as I messed. I felt completely mortified; here I was in my attendant's arms, being fed a baby bottle and pooping my diaper.

“Such a good girl,” Morris said, “I’m very proud of you; I know that wasn’t easy, but you did so well. Let it all out; I promise to get you nice and clean real soon,” she said, praising me.

Somehow, unlike Dorian’s praise, this felt more belittling, as if she were praising a small child for having made it to the potty. However, instead of potty training, she was praising me for using my diapers. The tingling I had felt when I wet myself was long gone, and normally, by now, Dorian would already be playing with me through my diaper, making me feel good. I longed for that; I longed for his touch if nothing else than to quell the anguish of shame that burned within me. Morris used many of the same words and phrases Dorian did, praising me for going potty, but without his loving embrace, they felt shallow and demoralizing. 

Thankfully, the bottle finally ran dry, the mess that caked my rear squishing as Morris shifted me and laid me on the bed. She hummed softly, sitting me up and removing my dress; my cheeks burned with shame, laying before her and the Queen in a messy diaper. Storms, I had pooped myself in front of the storming Queen! To her benefit, the Queen was pointedly not looking at me, but I felt abashment all the same as the tabs of my diaper were popped and the front of my diaper pulled open.

Much like the Queen herself, Morris wasted no time cleaning me of my mess, and I felt relieved as I was lifted from my soiled diaper and lowered into a fresh one Morris unfolded below me. A layer of powder was applied, and the thick diaper pulled up between my legs. Morris patted the front of my diaper with a smile, “There we go! Such a good girl, your Grace.” she said, sitting me up and helping me into a nighty not unlike what the Queen was wearing.

Morris’s use of my honorific caught me off guard. The more she treated me like a child, the less I saw myself less as a Princess and more of a little kid who needed to be cared for at that moment. But when she said ‘your Grace,’ reality came crashing in around me. I remembered that I was royalty; Morris was an attendant, my attendant. She served me, not the other way around. If I ordered her to do something, would she obey me? Morris would certainly have to, right? I was, after all, her superior; she reported to me, not the other way around. 

Morris and my other servant’s care for me upset the delicate power dynamic between the attendant and Princess. Growing up, I had attendants caring for me, especially when I was little. They taught me much about life and being royalty, on top of being parental figures for me when my parents couldn’t be. The Queen and King were busy people, and as important as continuing their legacy was to them, it fell to the side in importance when compared to the needs of the kingdom. To that end, my attendants growing up were more my mother and father than my biological parents ever were. It wasn’t my mother, the Queen, who changed me or fed me; it was my caregivers. When I cried or scraped my knee, it was them who held me and kissed my knee all better. 

Despite that, my caregivers had also ensured I was well aware of my place, my lineage, and the power I held. They made certain that they treated me with respect and dignity, even after having spanked me and put me in time out. As I grew older and more aware of the responsibilities of a Queen, I took charge of my caregivers, giving them orders. My caregivers shifted from parental figures to attendants, who helped me with everyday tasks. The day they had dressed me for my journey to my new home, they had cried nearly as much as my mother did. Even as I gave them orders, they looked at me like a proud parent, and I would have to lie if I didn’t admit to feeling prideful at that. 

Morris, however, muddled the line of what was acceptable for an attendant to do with their Princess. I couldn’t blame her, given what was expected of the Queen in this kingdom. The fact the Queen was treated with such blatant disrespect turned my understanding of attendants on its head. My attendants had been there to help and support me, but here, they seemed more akin to the caregivers I had growing up. Both my attendants still served the basic functions of assisting me, however, I couldn’t help but feel that they had far more control than what I gave them credit for. I feared that if they started doing something I truly didn’t like, I would struggle to stop them. Where did the power of Princess end, and this kingdom's attendants begin? I would have to find out.

Morris pulled my nighty into place, her hand supporting my rear as I stood beside her, “There we go, your grace.” she said, “Why don’t we get you both tucked in? I’m sure you’ve had long days, and a good night's rest will do you both good.”

I nodded my head in agreement, although Morris was already pulling back the covers of my bedding as if it hadn’t been up for debate. I felt that pang of worry smoldering in the back of my mind, and I wondered if I ordered Morris to allow me to stay up, if she would or not. I groaned as I realized what I was thinking; I was thinking of asking Morris to let me stay up late as if I were a child who didn’t want to go to bed yet. I was a Princess! Storms, I was supposed to be stronger than this! Why was it I couldn’t hold my chin up in this kingdom? 

With a sigh, I lowered myself into bed, and Morris expertly tucked me in, making sure I was nice and snug. To add insult to injury, she pulled something from her pocket and offered it to my lips. It was a pacifier.

“Your grace,” Morris said with a smile, “It’s important to keep up on your training for when this occupation ends. Pacifiers are a key component of a good Queen, and you’ll be expected to have one most of the time.”

I rolled my eyes; this kingdom's sense of decency in their Queen was backward. I read between the lines of what Morris was saying; it wasn’t that the Queen wanted a pacifier; it was expected of her to keep her quiet and docile. That realization made my stomach turn, “I don’t want one.” I stated firmly, turning my head to the side.

Morris sighed, “Your Grace, a Queen is expected to be able to keep her pacifier in all night; in the event you are unable to do so, we are employed to use methods of making sure it stays in.”

I shot Morris a hostile glare, “And what does that mean?” I asked.

“It means, your Grace if you can’t keep it in, I got a strap that will keep it in. Wouldn’t you rather learn to keep it in overnight now, without that need? Rather than push it off and require a strap later.” Morris said with a sly smile.

I narrowed my eyes, feeling the bonds of duty tightening around me. Morris clearly made it sound like an offer, an olive branch to prevent future trouble, but something about how she spoke made it obvious that it was no offer; it was a demand. 

I glanced at the Queen, who nodded sheepishly, “Having a pacifier strapped in all night is rather uncomfortable. I refused to learn before I became a Queen; it is easier if you learn now.”

I groaned, sighing and accepting the pacifier. Morris gave me a satisfied smile and gave the Queen her own pacifier. As I lay back in bed, nursing the storming pacifier, I couldn’t help feeling a deep-seated resentment at my treatment. Had I made a mistake coming to this kingdom? Would Dorian keep his word once I ascended to being a Queen? When would this occupation end? My mind swirled with questions and concerns until fatigue caught up with me, and I drifted off to unconsciousness.