The Crimson Crown

As I crept through the dim corridors, the cold stone beneath my feet seemed to radiate the chill that gripped me. My servant dress hung loosely on my frame, its plain fabric a far cry from the silks and embroidery I’d worn just days before. Beneath it, the bulk of my thick diaper reminded me of my vulnerability, its presence both comforting and humiliating. Each step I took felt foreign and shaky, but I kept moving, driven by the singular thought that standing still would mean being found—and captured.

The sound of muffled voices drew me forward, growing louder with every cautious step. I turned a corner and froze, peering into a large central room filled with servants. The girls stood in neat rows, their heads slightly bowed, their expressions attentive and subdued. The room was stark, the stone walls bare except for a few lanterns mounted high above, their flickering light casting long shadows. The air was heavy with the scent of soap and damp cloth, the smell of hard work and endless labor.

At the front of the room stood a woman, unlike anyone I’d seen before. She was tall and commanding, her presence towering over the much smaller servant girls before her. Her posture was impeccable; her shoulders pulled back, and her chin held high as if she were royalty herself. Her uniform was pristine—a deep charcoal gray dress with crisp white cuffs and collar, accented by a gleaming silver brooch at her throat. Her dark hair was pulled into a severe bun, not a single strand out of place.

Her voice cut through the room like a blade. “You are here to serve, nothing more, nothing less,” she declared, her tone sharp and unwavering. “The affairs of the castle are not your concern. You must obey and ensure that the castle functions as it should, regardless of what turmoil lies beyond these walls.”

The girls nodded silently, not daring to speak. Even from my hiding place near the doorway, I could feel the weight of her authority pressing down on me. Her gaze swept over the group, her dark eyes sharp and piercing, and I instinctively stepped back into the shadows, my heart pounding. For a moment, I felt as though she could see me anyway, her presence so commanding that it seemed to fill every corner of the room.

“I will tolerate no laziness, no mistakes,” she continued. “You are here because you have a purpose. If you cannot fulfill it, you will find no place in this castle.”

The words struck a chord of fear in me but also a strange sense of resolve. If I was to survive, I needed to blend in, to disappear among these girls. My disguise was convincing enough, but the thought of standing before her, of trying to meet her expectations, filled me with dread.

Her speech concluded, and the girls murmured their affirmations before dispersing, moving toward the various tasks waiting for them. I remained frozen near the doorway, my breath shallow and my thoughts racing. How could I step into that room, into their world, and remain unnoticed? The headmistress’s gaze lingered over the crowd as though she could sense someone out of place.

And yet, I had no choice. If I stayed where I was, the soldiers searching the castle would find me eventually. Summoning every ounce of courage I could muster, I adjusted the folds of my dress and took a hesitant step into the room, the sound of my footfall barely audible. My heart pounded as I shuffled toward the back of the group, keeping my head low and praying I wouldn’t draw her attention.

I breathed a sigh of relief as the headmistress’s sharp gaze passed over me, seemingly oblivious to my presence. My knees felt weak as I lowered my head further, doing my best to blend into the group of shuffling servant girls. When one of them, a slender girl with pale blonde hair tied back in a loose braid, turned and slipped quietly out of the room, I hesitated for only a moment before following her. She was about my height, though her thin frame and small stature gave her a meek, almost fragile air. Her plain brown dress hung loosely on her, and she carried herself with nervous energy, her eyes darting about as if she were expecting reprimand at any moment.

The hallway outside the main room was dim and narrow, the rough stone walls making the space feel confining. The girl ahead of me moved quickly, her soft steps purposeful but quiet. I kept my distance, careful not to draw attention to myself but close enough to follow her path.

She stopped at a door tucked into a recessed corner of the corridor and pushed it open without hesitation. The smell of soap and damp cloth hit me immediately, a strong but oddly comforting scent. Inside, a middle-aged servant with graying hair tied back in a messy bun was handing out buckets filled with warm, soapy water. Her hands were calloused, her face lined with the wear of years of labor, but her movements were practiced and efficient. She gave each girl a small sponge along with their bucket, her tired eyes barely sparing them a glance as they came and went.

The blonde girl ahead of me stepped forward, accepted her supplies without a word, and turned to leave, her bucket sloshing slightly as she walked. I hesitated, unsure of what to do, but the servant woman barely looked up as I moved forward. My hands trembled slightly as I accepted the heavy bucket and the sponge she handed me, nodding in silent thanks.

I turned quickly, following the girl with the blonde braid down another hallway. My heart raced as I clutched the bucket handle tightly, its warm weight a reminder of the unfamiliar role I was now forced to play. The girl glanced back at me briefly, her wide, pale blue eyes meeting mine for the briefest moment. Her gaze was curious but not unfriendly, as if she noticed I didn’t quite belong but had no intention of questioning it.

Without a word, she led the way down a narrow set of stairs and into another dimly lit corridor lined with thick wooden doors. She stopped at one of them, pushing it open with her shoulder and stepping inside. I hesitated again but followed, unsure of what else to do. The room she led me into was a small storage area, bare except for a few rags, cleaning tools, and a tall stack of dusty crates.

“We’re scrubbing the floors today,” she said softly, her voice quiet but steady as she set her bucket down near one of the stone walls. “Start at that end.” She gestured vaguely to the far corner of the room without looking at me directly.

I nodded, my mouth dry, and set my bucket down where she’d indicated. I watched as she knelt, dipping her sponge into the soapy water and wringing it out before beginning to scrub the floor with practiced movements. My own hands fumbled slightly as I mimicked her actions, my mind racing with uncertainty. For now, it seemed, I had managed to go unnoticed. But every second felt like borrowed time, and I had no idea how long this fragile charade could last.

The girl’s pale braid bobbed slightly as she scrubbed, her movements efficient but unhurried. I did my best to mimic her, but my hands trembled, and the sponge slipped from my grasp more than once. The soapy water soaked through my sleeves as I wrung out the sponge clumsily, sending droplets splattering onto the floor. My breath hitched when she glanced up, her pale blue eyes narrowing slightly as she studied me.

“You’re new,” she said quietly, her voice soft but with a sharpness that suggested she didn’t miss much. She set her sponge down and moved closer, kneeling beside me. “You don’t even know how to scrub properly, do you?”

I froze, my cheeks flushing with a mix of shame and fear. “I—” I stammered, searching for words, but she cut me off gently.

“Here.” She took the sponge from my hands, her small fingers brushing mine. “Like this.” She dipped it into the soapy water, wringing it out with quick, practiced twists before pressing it firmly to the stone floor. “Use more pressure, but don’t push too hard, or you’ll wear yourself out before you finish a single corner.”

I nodded mutely, watching her movements closely before attempting them myself. She stayed beside me, correcting my posture and showing me how to avoid splashing water everywhere. Despite her earlier sharpness, there was a kindness in her tone now, an understanding that eased the tension coiled in my chest.

Once I managed a passable rhythm, she sat back on her heels, brushing a damp strand of hair from her face. “I’m Clara,” she said after a moment, her voice still low, though the corners of her mouth lifted slightly. “And you?”

I hesitated. My real name felt like a dangerous thing to share, but I couldn’t afford to seem suspicious. “Lila,” I offered finally, the name slipping out before I could second-guess it.

Clara studied me again, her eyes narrowing slightly, but she didn’t press. “Lila,” she repeated. “You don’t seem like you belong here.”

“I—” My throat tightened. “I... was sent here recently.”

Her gaze softened slightly, and she glanced at the door before leaning in. “Let me guess. You’re one of the ones forced into servitude since... they came.” Her voice dropped even lower, her words barely above a whisper, but the weight of them hung heavy between us. “There’s been so many of you lately. They don’t care where you came from or who you are, as long as you work.”

I swallowed hard, nodding faintly. It was safer to let her believe that than to reveal the truth. “Yes,” I murmured, my voice barely audible.

Clara’s expression darkened, her hands curling into loose fists on her lap. “It’s not fair,” she muttered. “None of this is. My family worked in the fields, but when the crops failed, they sent me here. Said I’d be better off serving in the castle, but it’s nothing more than a prison.”

Her bitterness was clear, but so was the empathy that softened her tone. She shifted closer, her voice dropping even lower. “Listen, you’ll figure it out. Just keep your head down, do what you’re told, and stay out of sight. They don’t bother with you much if you don’t give them a reason to.”

I nodded again, my chest tight with a mixture of gratitude and unease. Clara’s kindness was unexpected, and I clung to it like a lifeline, even as her words reminded me of the dangerous game I was playing. For now, I would have to follow her lead and hope that blending in would be enough to keep me safe—at least until I could figure out what to do next.

As Clara and I scrubbed side by side, the rhythmic sound of sponge against stone filled the small, damp room. The soapy water seeped into my sleeves and the hem of my dress, clinging to my skin with a persistent chill. My hands ached from the unfamiliar motion, my shoulders stiff from bending over the rough floor. Yet, I forced myself to keep going, mimicking Clara’s method as best I could. The silence between us was heavy but not uncomfortable; she had settled into the task with practiced ease, her expression calm and resigned.

I, however, couldn’t stop the whirlwind of thoughts that spun through my mind. Each swipe of the sponge seemed to echo a memory of how far I’d fallen. Just days ago, I had stood beneath the vaulted ceilings of the royal chapel, draped in silks and jewels, the Four Winds themselves blessing my union. My hands had been soft and clean, my duties those of a princess—speaking with nobles, studying the kingdom’s history, and dreaming of what my future would hold.

Now, those same hands were red and raw, gripping a coarse sponge as I scrubbed grime from the stone floor of a castle that no longer felt like mine. My dress, once adorned with golden embroidery and delicate lace, was now a plain, shapeless thing, damp and clinging to my knees as I knelt in filth. Beneath it, the soft bulk of my diaper was a constant, humbling reminder.

How had it come to this? The question turned over and over in my mind, the weight of it pressing on my chest. My home had been taken, my family scattered, and now even my identity was hidden beneath the guise of a servant girl. The proud, fiery-haired princess I once knew felt like a distant memory, lost somewhere in the echoing corridors of this foreign castle.

I glanced at Clara, her movements steady and sure, her focus unwavering. She worked as though she’d been born to it, her hands worn but capable, her expression tired but calm. I envied her resolve. There was no space for self-pity in her life, no room for reflection on what might have been. She simply did what she had to do to survive.

I lowered my head, my sponge moving in slow circles as I scrubbed a particularly stubborn stain. Was this survival? Keeping my head down, blending in, scrubbing floors as if the dirt I cleaned away could erase the memories of what I’d lost? The thought made my stomach churn, and I had to bite back the tears that threatened to spill. If I cried now, I’d only draw attention to myself, and attention was the last thing I needed.

Still, the ache in my chest wouldn’t go away. I had always imagined my life as a princess would be filled with duty, yes, but also grace, purpose, and strength. Now, my purpose felt reduced to the small circle of stone beneath my sponge, and the grace I once carried felt as fragile and fleeting as the bubbles that dissolved in the soapy water.

But this wasn’t the end. The thought struck me like a spark in the darkness. I was still there, I was still breathing, and as long as I was alive, I could fight to reclaim what was taken from me.

I gritted my teeth, my grip tightening on the sponge. This wasn’t where my story ended, and no amount of dirt or grime would change that. I wasn’t just a servant. I wasn’t just a frightened girl hiding in the shadows. I was Liliana, Princess of this kingdom, and though the path ahead was dark and uncertain, I refused to let it define me.

The thought steadied me, giving me something to hold on to as I scrubbed. Clara cast a glance in my direction, perhaps sensing the shift in my demeanor, but she said nothing. I didn’t need her words; her presence was enough. For now, survival meant keeping my head down and my hands moving. But one day, when the moment was right, I would rise from these shadows and take back what was mine.

As Clara and I continued scrubbing the floor, the rhythmic motion of my arms became almost mechanical. The ache in my shoulders dulled to a steady pulse, blending into the background of everything else that weighed on me. For a moment, I allowed myself to focus on the sound of the sponge gliding over the rough stone, the occasional drip of soapy water splashing against the floor, and Clara’s steady breathing beside me. It was easier than facing the whirlwind of thoughts still storming in my mind.

But then I felt it—a soft, insistent ache low in my belly. My body tensed instinctively, and the realization struck me like a cold wave: I needed to relieve myself.

I froze, my hand pausing mid-scrub, and a flush of heat crept up my neck. It wasn’t an emergency—not yet—but the soft ache was a reminder that couldn’t be ignored. I tried to push the thought away, forcing my hand to move again, scrubbing at a particularly stubborn stain with more force than necessary. But the ache remained, growing ever so slightly with each passing moment.

Clara didn’t seem to notice my shift in demeanor, her focus still entirely on the task at hand. That was a small mercy, at least. I bit my lip, my cheeks burning as the reality of my situation set in. There was no slipping away to a private chamber, no discreet retreat to a bathroom. In this place, in this disguise, I didn’t have the luxury of privacy—or dignity. The bulk of the diaper beneath my dress was a constant, humiliating reminder of that.

I stole a glance at Clara, her braid swaying slightly as she worked, her expression calm and indifferent. For her, this was just another day, another chore. She had no idea who I really was, and for that, I was grateful. If she knew, if anyone knew, the weight of humiliation would have been unbearable.

The ache in my bladder sharpened slightly, drawing my focus back to it. I clenched my thighs together reflexively, though I knew it was a futile effort. My body’s need would only grow stronger, and eventually, I’d have to give in. The thought filled me with a fresh wave of shame, a sting sharper than any rebuke I’d faced in my life. I was supposed to be a princess—a figure of grace, strength, and dignity. And here I was, scrubbing floors in a servant’s dress, about to…

I swallowed hard, closing my eyes for a brief moment. This wasn’t forever, I told myself, clinging to the words like a lifeline. This was survival. Dignity didn’t matter if I was caught. I couldn’t think about that right now.

But the rationalization did little to dull the humiliation that simmered in my chest. Slowly, deliberately, I forced myself to continue scrubbing, my movements stiff and mechanical. My body would win eventually, and when it did, I’d have to endure the quiet, humbling reality of what that meant. For now, I could only hope that Clara wouldn’t notice the flush in my cheeks or the shift in my posture as I wrestled with the reality of how far I’d fallen.