The Crimson Crown

As the minutes stretched on, the soft ache in my bladder grew more insistent, refusing to be ignored. I scrubbed harder, pushing the sponge over the stone floor with increasing force as if the physical effort could somehow distract me from the discomfort gnawing at me. But it didn’t. The ache sharpened, and I shifted my weight uncomfortably, my thighs pressing together as I tried to suppress the inevitable.

I stole a glance at Clara, who was still immersed in her work, her brow furrowed in concentration as she tackled a stubborn stain. She hadn’t noticed my struggle, and I silently prayed it would stay that way. My cheeks burned with humiliation as I felt the pressure building, the stark realization settling over me that this wasn’t a battle I could win. Not here. Not now.

I could hold it, I told myself, clinging desperately to the thought, but my body disagreed. The ache grew sharper, an unrelenting reminder of how powerless I truly was in this moment. My knees pressed together, and my sponge slipped from my grasp, falling with a soft splat into the soapy water.

“Careful,” Clara said, glancing at me briefly before returning to her work. Her tone was neutral, almost distracted, but it still sent a jolt of anxiety through me. I muttered an apology under my breath, my hands trembling as I retrieved the sponge.

But my focus was already gone, swallowed entirely by the battle raging in my body. I bit my lip hard, trying to wash away the pressure, but it was no use. My muscles tensed and then gave way all at once, and I felt a sudden, warm rush flood into the diaper beneath my dress.

I froze, my breath catching in my throat as the humiliating reality sank in. The warmth spread, the thick padding absorbing it quickly, but there was no hiding from what had just happened. The shame hit me like a wave, hot and suffocating, and I fought to keep my expression neutral, my hands gripping the sponge so tightly that my knuckles turned white.

“Everything all right?” Clara asked, her voice cutting through the haze of my thoughts. She looked at me again, her pale blue eyes curious but not suspicious.

I forced a nod, my voice barely audible. “Fine,” I managed, though the word felt hollow in my throat.

She didn’t press further, turning back to her work with the same practiced ease she’d shown all morning. I swallowed hard, my cheeks still burning as I bent back over the floor, my movements stiff and mechanical. The padding beneath me was warm and slightly heavy now, a constant reminder of how far I’d fallen. A princess reduced to scrubbing floors—and now, this.

The shame was almost unbearable, but I clenched my jaw and forced myself to keep working. There was no time to dwell on my humiliation, no space for tears or self-pity. I had to survive, to keep my disguise intact, to avoid the eyes of anyone who might see through me. If Clara suspected anything, she gave no sign, and for that, I was grateful.

But deep down, the weight of what I’d lost settled more heavily on my shoulders. I wasn’t just a servant at this moment—I was utterly powerless, stripped of everything that once defined me. And yet, beneath the shame, a faint ember of resolve still burned. I couldn’t let this moment, this humiliation, define me. I would endure it because survival demanded it. And when the time came, I would rise from these shadows stronger than before. But for now, I worked in silence, my cheeks flushed and my heart heavy, each movement a quiet act of defiance against the circumstances that had brought me here.

As I scrubbed at the cold stone floor, the soaked padding beneath me was impossible to ignore. Each shift of my weight, each small movement, sent a humiliating reminder of my situation. My cheeks burned, and I blinked hard, fighting back the sting of tears that threatened to spill. I couldn’t cry here, not in front of Clara—not in this place. But no matter how hard I tried to push it away, the weight in my chest only grew heavier.

The memories came unbidden, sharper, and more painful with every passing second. Dorian’s face floated in my mind—his warm smile, the way his eyes softened when he looked at me, his steady hand always reaching for mine in moments of doubt. He had been my anchor, my partner, the one who promised that we’d face this world together.

Where is he now? The thought cut through me like a blade. Was he safe? Was he alive? The ache in my heart deepened, twisting into something almost unbearable. I tried to picture him as I’d last seen him, standing tall and resolute, but my mind filled with darker images instead—ones I couldn’t suppress. What if he’d fought and fallen? What if I never saw him again?

I swallowed hard, the lump in my throat refusing to budge. The faint murmur of Clara’s sponge against the floor felt distant, like a sound from another world. My vision blurred, and I squeezed my eyes shut, willing the tears to stay hidden. I couldn’t cry. Not here, 

not now. But the pain was relentless, a hollow, aching void that grew with every breath.

The soaked diaper beneath my dress only made it worse, amplifying the shame that tangled with my grief. Dorian had held me with such tenderness and treated me with dignity and respect, even when I felt at my most vulnerable. Now, that dignity was gone, replaced by the grimy reality of scrubbing floors and the humbling sensation of wet padding pressing against my skin. It was as though I had lost not only him but myself as well.

I bit my lip, my hand gripping the sponge tightly as I stared at the stone floor beneath me. I had to keep moving; I had to survive, not only for myself but for him as well. But the ache in my chest wouldn’t relent, the emptiness gnawing at the edges of my resolve.

A soft sniffle escaped before I could stop it, and I quickly turned my head away from Clara, pretending to adjust my position as I swiped at my eyes with the back of my hand. I couldn’t let her see me like this. I couldn’t let anyone see me like this. I wasn’t just humiliated—I was broken.

But deep within the pain, a flicker of determination remained. Dorian had once told me that strength wasn’t about never falling—it was about standing up again, no matter how many times the world knocked you down. He’d believed in me, even when I didn’t believe in myself. If he was out there, I had to find him. If he wasn’t... I had to be strong enough to carry on for both of us.

The tears threatened again, but I swallowed them down, letting the steady rhythm of scrubbing ground me. Each movement felt like a quiet act of defiance against the despair threatening to consume me. I couldn’t give in to it. Not now, not ever. For Dorian. For myself. For the hope that, somewhere, he was out there, fighting to come back to me just as I would fight to find him.

As the ache in my chest threatened to swallow me whole, I forced myself to take a deep, shuddering breath. The memory of the Queen’s words resurfaced, cutting through the fog of grief and despair. “Strength isn’t about never feeling fear. It’s about moving forward despite it.” Her voice was steady in my mind, a beacon of clarity amidst the chaos.

I closed my eyes for a moment, letting the words settle. She had looked at me with such certainty, such quiet belief, even when I felt utterly unworthy of it. She had called me strong—me, the girl who had spent more time running and hiding than fighting. But she had seen something in me, something I hadn’t been able to see myself.

The tears that had been threatening to spill finally dried, replaced by a growing heat in my chest—not anger, but something sharper and more focused. Determination. My chin lifted slightly as I straightened my back, my grip on the sponge tightening. I would not let this defeat me. I would not let this occupation define me.

The soaked padding beneath my dress, the grime on my hands, the humiliation of scrubbing floors—these were temporary. They didn’t make me weak; they reminded me of what I was enduring, what I would rise above. I thought of the Queen, held captive, and of Dorian, wherever he might be. They were counting on me, even if they didn’t know it. My kingdom was counting on me.

I glanced at Clara, who was still scrubbing dutifully, unaware of the storm raging and now calming within me. For her, this life was survival. For me, it was a reminder of why I had to reclaim what was mine—not just for myself, but for everyone who had been forced into servitude, stripped of their dignity, their freedom, their hope.

I felt my spine straighten further as I began scrubbing again, the motion now steady and deliberate. The cold stone floor and the soapy water didn’t seem as oppressive as before. They were merely obstacles, small ones in the grand scheme of what lay ahead. This wasn’t the end of my story. It was merely a chapter, one that would shape the person I needed to become. The enemy might have taken my castle, my family, and my crown, but they hadn’t taken my spirit. That was mine, unbroken, and I would use it to rise.

I would reclaim my kingdom, I told myself, the thought firm and unyielding. I would find the Queen. I would find Dorian. And I would take back what they tried to steal from me. My chin lifted a little higher, my tears long gone, as quiet defiance burned within me. They would not win. I would not fall.

By the time we finished scrubbing the length of the hall, the light filtering through the narrow, grimy windows had shifted, casting a warm glow that signaled midday. I sat back on my heels, my sponge slipping from my hands into the soapy bucket. My back ached fiercely, a dull, relentless throb that traveled up my spine, and my arms felt like lead, trembling slightly from the repetitive motion. My legs protested as I stretched them out, stiff from kneeling on the hard stone floor for hours.

Clara let out a soft sigh beside me, sitting back as well. She rolled her shoulders, her expression tired but indifferent, as though she was long accustomed to the discomfort. “That’ll do,” she said quietly, glancing down the length of the now-clean hall. “Good enough for them, anyway.”

I nodded, swallowing hard against the lump in my throat as I struggled to my feet. My legs wobbled, and I had to steady myself against the wall for a moment, the soreness in my muscles making even standing feel like a monumental task. Clara was already gathering her bucket and sponge, her movements fluid despite her fatigue.

“Come on,” she said, motioning for me to follow. “It’s time for lunch. We’ll clean these out first, though.” She gestured to the buckets, and I nodded again, forcing myself to bend down and lift mine. The warm water sloshed against the sides, and I grimaced at the way my arms protested the weight.

As we made our way back down the corridor, the sound of our steps and the faint slosh of water filled the space. Clara walked ahead, her pace steady, while I followed more slowly, the soreness in my legs making every step feel like a chore. My soaked dress clung to me, and the ever-present bulk of the diaper beneath it felt heavier now, a reminder of my earlier humiliation.

But I straightened my shoulders as best I could, willing myself to keep going. The ache in my body, the grime on my hands, even the indignity of my situation—none of it mattered in the grand scheme of what I needed to do. Each step I took was one step closer to reclaiming myself, my strength, and my kingdom.

We reached the closet where we’d first collected our supplies, the air still heavy with the scent of soap and damp cloth. A few other servant girls were already there, exchanging their buckets and tools with quiet efficiency. Clara slid into the rhythm with practiced ease, handing her bucket to the gray-haired servant managing the station and collecting a fresh one.

“Eat fast,” Clara said over her shoulder as she handed me a damp cloth to wipe my hands. “They don’t give us much time, and there’s more to do after lunch.”

I nodded, gripping the cloth tightly as I scrubbed the soapy residue from my fingers. My arms still ached, and my back felt like it was knotted in a dozen places, but I forced myself to stand a little straighter, my chin lifting slightly. The morning had been humbling in every way possible, but it had also proven one thing: I could endure.

As Clara and I joined the line of girls heading toward the dining area, I kept my head down but my resolve high. I would play their game, follow their rules, and bide my time. 

The dining area was a low-ceilinged room, dimly lit by a few sputtering lanterns hanging from iron hooks on the walls. The scent of bread, stewed vegetables, and something faintly metallic filled the air, but the atmosphere was far from warm. Servants shuffled through the narrow space, their heads down, their movements practiced and efficient. 

The clatter of tin plates and wooden utensils filled the room, punctuated by the occasional scrape of a chair against the stone floor. Though the room was full, it felt oddly quiet; conversations were whispered, each one laced with a cautious undertone as if the very walls might betray them.

I kept my head low, following Clara’s lead as she moved toward the line of girls collecting their food. My legs ached with every step, and my arms felt like dead weight at my sides. A girl ahead of me handed me a tin plate without a word, her face blank, her eyes dull. I took it carefully, glancing at her briefly before moving on. The weight of the plate, though light, felt monumental in my tired hands.

Clara had already settled at a small wooden table near the far wall, her plate resting in front of her as she waited for me. I slipped into the seat across from her, careful not to draw attention to myself. The rough wood pressed against my back, and I bit back a sigh of relief as I finally sat down, my wet diaper squishing beneath me, the ache in my legs easing slightly.

On the plate in front of me sat a single piece of coarse bread, a small bowl of watery stew, and a few limp greens that looked like they’d been pulled from the bottom of a barrel. It wasn’t much, but the gnawing emptiness in my stomach didn’t allow for complaint. I picked up the wooden spoon and stirred the stew absently, watching as Clara dipped her bread into her bowl, eating with quiet efficiency.

Around us, the other servants ate quickly, their heads bent low. The whispered conversations at nearby tables were fragmented, their words too soft to make out. It was as if everyone was afraid to speak too loudly, afraid to say the wrong thing. Even Clara, who had been so quick to guide me earlier, seemed more reserved here, her eyes flicking toward the room’s shadowy corners as she ate.

I tried to focus on the food, but my mind was too heavy with doubt. The morning’s labor had left me utterly drained, every muscle in my body protesting the effort I’d forced upon it. My fingers still ached from wringing out the sponge, and the soreness in my back reminded me of how far I’d fallen. If I couldn’t manage scrubbing floors for a few hours without feeling like I might collapse, how could I ever hope to reclaim my kingdom?

The thought made my stomach churn, and I pushed the bread around on my plate absently. My kingdom. The words felt distant, like something I’d read in a story rather than something that had once been mine. I thought of Dorian, of the Queen, of the castle halls that now belonged to someone else. The weight of it all pressed down on me like the stone walls of this place.

How would I do this? The question echoed in my mind, sharper with every repetition. I had no allies, no plan, and no strength left to fight. For the first time, the enormity of my situation truly settled over me, and it felt suffocating. My hands trembled slightly as I forced myself to take a small bite of bread, the dry, crumbly texture sticking to my throat.

But then Clara glanced up at me, her pale blue eyes flicking over my face with a quiet understanding. “You’ll get used to it,” she said softly, her voice low enough that only I could hear. “The work, the days—it’ll get easier.”

I nodded faintly, though her words didn’t comfort me. I didn’t want to get used to this. I didn’t want to accept it. But I also didn’t know how to fight against it, not yet.

One step at a time, I told myself. I didn’t have a plan, but I had resolve. And for now, that would have to be enough.