The Crimson Crown

Lost in the intoxicating moment, I hadn’t realized the bottle was empty until a harsh gulp of air jolted me back to reality. Prince Dorian, ever the opportunist, swiftly claimed the empty bottle, his touch lingering on my lips as he wiped away the residue. A warm smile graced his features as he inquired, “How was that?”

I found myself blushing. Here I lay in the lap of an attractive man, naked apart from a pink diaper, and he had just fed me a baby bottle. I felt utterly ashamed of myself, but even more so for the fact that I had found I enjoyed the moment. As much as it was humiliating and demeaning, his gentle nature, the rhythmic nursing, and his ever-loving embrace had left me feeling relaxed. “It wasn’t too bad,” I answered weakly, mortified at how submissive I had been and how easily I had broken.

Prince Dorian smiled, helping me sit up. “How about we get you dressed? We can explore the grounds a bit before we turn in for the night.” 

I nodded weakly; I’d do anything to get out of this bedroom. I hoped that with some decent clothing, I could regain my composure and gain control over the situation. Prince Dorian smiled, standing and clapping his hands several times. The doors to our room swung open. I let out a yelp of surprise, rolling to kneel behind the changing table, covering myself. “What are you doing?” I demanded, “I’m basically naked!”

Prince Dorian chuckled, “It’s your attendants, my lady. They will help you with many things, especially getting dressed. Your gowns are far too elegant for me to dress you properly.”

My cheeks burned brightly as I glanced towards the doors, which had swung shut, two attendants standing there. They were dressed in crimson and gold. The first was a petite woman with soft, honey-colored hair, neatly braided and pinned, giving her an air of gentle grace. Her dress was a deep crimson, fitted with subtle gold embroidery along the sleeves and hem. Her warm brown eyes were downcast, and she moved with a practiced grace as both girls curtsied before me. The other woman was tall and poised, with dark hair swept back in an elegant chignon. Her dress was similar but with more elaborate gold detailing around the bodice and cuffs. I could imagine she was a senior attendant, and she carried herself as one.

“This is Elara, and Moris.” Prince Dorian said, motioning toward the honey-haired girl first and then the dark-haired.

“Your grace.” Both girls said in response, offering another curtsy.

“They will be your attendants through your time as a Princess and as a Queen. We’ve found keeping the same attendants, ones who learn you intimately, grow to be the best servants. Ladies, if you will, my soon-to-be wife needs to be dressed.” Prince Dorian said.

The girls bowed slightly; Elara turned and left the room for a moment before returning with a dress in hand. The dress was made of a soft, shimmering fabric in a shade of pastel blue, delicate yet vibrant. It had a fitted bodice adorned with small, sparkling gemstones that caught the light with every movement, forming intricate floral patterns. The neckline was scalloped, with tiny pearl accents that added a touch of sweetness. The skirts flared out into layers of tulle, creating a playful, cloud-like effect that swayed with each step. It was a full skirt designed for twirling, with subtle hints of pink and lavender peeking out from below. The hemline was embroidered with tiny silver stars and flowers.

I found my mouth agape, staring at the dress as the two attendants approached me. “I can’t go out in that thing!” I squeaked, “I’m eighteen, not eight!”

The attendants looked to Prince Dorian, who held up a hand, halting their progress. “My lady, you are a princess, and this is befitting of a princess within our kingdom. You do not know our customs or our traditions; you wouldn’t want to stick out, would you? Or, even worse, make the wrong impression? Besides, you aren’t going out to be seen by the public yet.” he said, waving the attendants forward.

I felt arguments die on my lips as they stepped around the changing table from which I cowered behind, my padded shame on full display for them. Neither girl said a thing as they gently pulled me to my feet. They were gentle, clearly practiced, and while I could have pulled away and made their lives challenging, I didn’t need guards in here seeing me like this, to hold me down as I was dressed. I blushed deeply as the gown was brought over my head, the petticoats smoothed out, and the bow tied before me.

I stared down at myself as the attendants drew brushes through my hair, pulling them into twin braids affixed with small, pink bows. I felt ashamed dressed as I was; while I had felt embarrassed and childlike before, in just a diaper, this was almost somehow worse. Any idea I had of regaining my composure before this man evaporated away like a puddle in the mid-day sun.

Prince Dorian stood before me, a sly grin on his face as he took in my outfit, and I found myself blushing. It felt as if I were a doll before this man as if he were playing dress-up with me and would decide exactly what I would wear. “Or, would you rather go without any dress?” he asked.

I felt a blush form on my cheeks, “I could do without the bows.” I grumbled, knowing full well I was entrapped. 

Either response I gave, either to confirm his suspicions or to deny them, would leave me even more vulnerable and exposed. I had to begrudgingly admit that while the dress was intoxicatingly childlike, it was better than nothing.

Prince Dorian took a braid in his fingers, toying with it, the pink bow flashing in the light, “I think it’s cute; it completes the look, my sweet princess.” 

I glowered but felt that same warmth blossom in my chest at his praise. The attendants helped me step into white slip-ons, more storming pink bows attached to the lace of both, before I was fully dressed. “I can’t go out like this.” I whined, feeling like a toddler more than the princess I was supposed to be, “This is ridiculous; it isn’t fitting of a princess.”

Prince Dorian's smile faded, and I felt my heart sink. I wanted to snatch the words from the air, to swallow my tongue. His fingers flicked the braid he had been playing with away, “You can and you will. For a princess of our kingdom, it is fitting.” he stated firmly. “I believe it would be in our best interest if you and my mother had a chat so you can better understand your place among the royal family.”

Prince Dorian turned and strolled towards the doors, my attendants taking up flanking positions on either side of me. “Come, she should be in the royal gardens at this time of day,” he said, the doors swinging open for him as he approached.

My attendants stood by my side, waiting for me. I sighed, lifting my chin in as dignified of a position as I could be given the situation, and followed after the prince. Both attendants followed behind, closing the doors to the bed chamber as we strolled down the hall. Thankfully, Prince Dorian was in no rush, for as I walked, I found each step rather difficult with my bulky undergarment. The fluffy diaper between my legs pushed outwardly, preventing me from walking naturally and forcing a slight waddle. It was unlike anyone would notice or know the true source of my waddle, but it made me blush madly regardless.

The trip to the gardens was thankfully a short one; servants held massive, intricate gold doors as we approached and passed out into the gardens. What I saw beyond took my breath away.

The royal gardens were a breathtaking expanse designed to showcase both natural beauty and meticulous craftsmanship. As I stepped through the arched stone entrance, we were greeted by a world of vibrant color and fragrant blooms. Paths made of smooth, polished stone winded through the gardens. To the left, a rose garden bloomed in shades of crimson, blush, and ivory, the air thick with their heady fragrance. The roses climbed over arched trellises and stone walls, forming natural alcoves. Further down, fountains gently trickled, creating a peaceful melody. Statues of past royals and mythical creatures were nestled among the flower beds, adding a touch of history and mystique.

A secluded grove toward the back was home to fruit trees, apple, peach, and cherry, all currently in bloom, their delicate petals drifting like snowflakes. In a nearby herb garden, rows of lavender, rosemary, and mint released their calming scents, blending in with the fresh, earthy aroma of the garden.

I followed Prince Dorian deep into the garden, eventually finding the Queen. She stood in a patch of sunlight near the pond, framed by the delicate blossoms of a nearby flowering tree. The queen was the very image of regal composure, her presence radiating both grace and quiet strength. She stood with her hands lightly clasped before her. Her hair, a rich chestnut with hints of silver, was elegantly swept up, with only a few soft strands framing her face. The queen’s gown was a deep crimson, embroidered with intricate golden patterns that shimmered subtly with each movement. The fabric flowed gracefully around her, the hem brushing the grass as if she belonged as much to the earth as she did to the crown. Her posture was upright, yet there was a warmth to her expression as she gazed upon the garden, a softness in her eyes, a quiet love for the natural beauty surrounding her.

As she noticed us approaching, the queen’s eyes shifted, a slight smile touching her lips. Her gaze was calm and steady, yet there was an intensity there, a wisdom that seemed to see beyond mere appearances, to look deeper. The queen carried herself with dignity, but there was a gentle kindness beneath her composed exterior, a compassion that reassured those around her. She was a woman of strength, tempered by grace, her presence as soothing as it was commanding. She was the embodiment of what a true queen should strive to be, riveling the grace and control of my mother. Somehow, this woman managed such a regal appearance while also thickly diapered beneath the royal tulles. 

“Mother.” Prince Dorian said, bending his head subserviently.

“My queen,” I said, offering a shallow curtsy befit of my station.

“Son, my new daughter.” The queen responded, offering a hand to Prince Dorian, who took it smoothly, planting a gentle, practiced kiss upon her hand. “It’s wonderful to meet you; how was your journey.”

“It was well, Your Grace,” I said smoothly, my head titled subtly downward, ever-present of my needed subservience to a higher station. 

“Please, you will be my daughter before long; you may call me mother,” the queen said, turning to Prince Dorian, “Leave us,” she said, turning away from him and motioning for me to follow.

Prince Dorian bowed and retreated as I took a hurried step to keep up, “Yes, Mother.” I responded. 

“How are you finding your accommodations?” The queen asked.

“If I’m being honest, mother.” I started.

“Please do.” The queen jumped in, cutting me off.

“I find them rather odd,” I said as we strolled through the gardens, birds chirping warm greetings as we passed.

The queen chuckled, “As every new queen does. Did you show any resistance to the treatment?” she asked.

I felt my cheeks blushing, and I shook my head, “No, Mother, despite the humiliating treatment. I kept my head on straight.”

The queen whistled appreciatively, “Impressive, I certainly didn’t.” she chuckled, her chin still held high, both our attendants trailing behind, out of earshot range, “I assure you, the spanking is not worth it.”

I nearly choked on my tongue at the admission. Here this woman was, the very essence of what a queen should be, how one should act, and she had admitted to me that she had been spanked like a naughty child. I blushed madly, keeping my eyes ahead, afraid I’d be unable to meet the woman’s eyes if our gazes met. “I can imagine that would be rather traumatizing, mother.” 

“That’s one word for it.” The queen said dryly, “Tell me, have you needed to utilize your new undergarments?” she asked.

I felt my face turning several shades of crimson, shame overtaking me like an avalanche. Did this woman truly just ask me if I had soiled myself yet? A piece of me had known that they would force me to use these diapers, and yet, I had been in denial. Prince Dorian had even directly referenced his mother getting good use out of them while having to deal with unruly outfits. Yet, somehow, I hadn’t put the pieces together, or perhaps I was suppressing the idea altogether.

“I have not, no,” I said, my voice small and weak once more, the poise I had developed gone once again. 

“I would suggest not resisting it; it will only make things worse for you, my child. The sooner you grow accustomed, the easier it will become.” The queen explained, my entire body turning red in embarrassment at her suggestion.

I was desperately trying to guide the conversation away from myself, “Do you still wear them, Mother?” I asked. Prince Dorian had said so, and yet, I needed to know for myself.

I caught the queen smiling out of the side of my vision, “Of course, as every queen has before me and every queen after. It’s a part of the royal heritage and an honor. The royal diapering of the queen is as much a family tradition as the bedding ceremony on a wedding night.” she chuckled, turning to me, halting our progress through the garden, “I would suggest fostering good connections with your attendants; they will be as apart of your life as much as your future husband will. They will often know your body better than you. Alas, I must be leaving you; I have matters to attend to. Be well, child.” she said.

I made a hasty curtsy as she turned to leave me, “Yes, Mother, thank you.” I responded.

She stopped, turning to me, her attendants making haste to catch up to her, “Oh and child, I do not recommend fighting the process.” she said before disappearing deeper into the garden.

Prince Dorian rejoined me shortly, “How did it go?” he asked, turning to gaze upon the lake’s water as I had been.

“It went well.” I responded, my cheeks still flush, “Your family is full of unique experiences.” 

Prince Dorian laughed, a hearty laugh, as he stepped up close beside me. “That it is, my future queen,” he said, smiling at me.

I found myself returning that smile, his hand meeting mine and our fingers intertwining. Despite the intimacy of our first encounter, this somehow felt different. The simple act of holding hands had my heart aflutter; perhaps it was because it was something I wanted, something I could control; I had willingly taken his hand and continued to hold it. I felt my heart flutter, ripples spreading across the lake's surface as we stared out at it.

Perhaps it had been the queen's speech, maybe it was the lake, or perhaps it was my subconscious playing with me. But, gazing out on those waters, I became acutely aware of the fact that I needed to pee. I shifted uncomfortably, the queen’s words reverberating suddenly through my mind. 

“Is something wrong, my lady?” Prince Dorian asked.

I blushed, shaking my head, unable to meet his gaze, “No, thank you.” I responded.

Prince Dorian cocked his head slightly before his eyes once again went out to the lake. “My father said my mother would say the same thing, the subtle shifting from foot to foot, the inward turn of your legs, the look of concentration on your face. You need to go, don’t you?”

How had this man figured me out so quickly and easily? He had read me like a book; I felt like a child before him, unable to hide even the most basic of secrets. I nodded, completely mortified. 

I felt his hand squeeze mine, “Relax, let it go, don’t fight it. I promised to keep you safe, and I will always keep that promise. Those diapers will keep you safe, and you will not embarrass yourself; I promise.” he said, keeping his eyes straight ahead and off of me.

The humiliation was all-consuming. He’d seen through my facade in mere moments, and now, with chilling audacity, he commanded my degradation. A wave of shame threatened to drown me, and I longed to vanish into the very earth beneath my feet. To disappear, to cease to exist. But there was no escape. Confined within the gilded prison of this foreign kingdom, I was a puppet on a string, a captive audience to their cruel whims. Every breath, every movement, every thought was subject to their scrutiny. I was trapped, a solitary figure adrift in a hostile sea.

“Please, don’t make me,” I whispered.

His fingers squeezed mine once more, “Do you trust me?” Prince Dorian asked softly.

I had barely met the man, and he was already asking about trust? Something about the way he carried himself, the way he treated me, the delicate touch and kind words, I found that I did trust him. It could be his persona, or it could be something more. I sheepishly nodded my head.

“Then trust me now,” he whispered.

A cold dread settled over me, my limbs heavy and unresponsive. Trapped in this suffocating silence, I was a helpless captive. The weight of his demand pressed down on me, a crushing burden. I yearned to defy him, to resist his cruel order. But the stark reality of my situation was undeniable. A prisoner of circumstance, I was forced to make a choice. The queen’s chilling words echoed in my mind, a haunting reminder of my fragile existence. With a trembling hand, I returned Prince Dorian’s grasp, a silent surrender. As despair consumed me, a wave of relief washed over me, a bittersweet victory in the face of defeat. A silent, involuntary confession, a final act of defiance against the tyranny of my predicament as I soaked my diaper.