The Crimson Crown

As I finished the last of the watery stew, I battled with the discomfort of the hard wooden seat and the constant reminder of my situation. The subtle squish with every movement sent heat to my cheeks, but I fought to keep my face neutral. The thought of enduring the rest of the day in this state churned my stomach, but the reality of my disguise left no room for dignity. How could I change? Who could I ask without exposing myself completely? The answer was clear—I couldn’t.

I glanced down at my plate, the crumbs of bread and streaks of stew left behind, wishing I could sit here forever and let the minutes into hours. The idea of returning to the grueling work of scrubbing floors was unbearable. My arms still trembled faintly from the morning’s labor, and my back ached so deeply that even sitting upright felt like a chore. But Clara, as unrelenting as ever, stood without hesitation, gathering her plate and bowl with practiced efficiency.

“Come on,” she said simply, her voice low but firm as she glanced down at me. She nodded toward the line of servants returning their dishes, then back to the closet where we’d collected our supplies earlier. “We’ve got more to do.”

I bit back a groan, swallowing the protest that rose in my throat. Clara wasn’t the sort of person who tolerated slacking, and I couldn’t risk standing out, not now. So I forced myself to rise, biting the inside of my cheek as my muscles protested the motion. My legs felt like jelly beneath me, my knees threatening to buckle as I took a step, and the uncomfortable squish that accompanied it made my cheeks burn again.

I followed Clara through the dining area, keeping my head low as I clutched my empty plate and bowl. The soft clatter of other servants cleaning up their places filled the air, but no one seemed to notice me. For that, at least, I was grateful. Each step back toward the cleaning closet felt heavier than the last, my body screaming for rest and my mind churning with questions I couldn’t answer.

Clara didn’t slow her pace, and I scrambled to keep up, the soaked padding beneath me only adding to the awkwardness of my stride. When we reached the closet, she took her bucket and sponge from the gray-haired servant in charge with a wordless nod. I followed suit, my hands trembling slightly as I accepted the clean bucket and sponge. The servant barely looked at me, her tired eyes focused on the next girl in line.

Clara turned, her pale braid swaying slightly as she glanced over her shoulder. “We’ve got the east wing next,” she said. “Try to keep up this time.” Her tone wasn’t harsh, but it left no room for excuses.

I nodded, swallowing hard as I gripped the bucket handle tightly. The wet padding shifted against me again, and I bit back a wince, forcing myself to follow Clara as she led the way down the dim corridor. Each step felt heavier than the last, but I reminded myself why I was doing this—why I had to endure. This wasn’t forever. It couldn’t be. I would find a way to reclaim my dignity, my strength, and my kingdom. But for now, I had no choice but to keep moving forward, one aching step at a time. My determination was a flickering flame in the darkness, a beacon of hope in the oppressive silence.

The hours stretched endlessly as we scrubbed the east wing, the dim glow of the lanterns casting flickering shadows on the rough stone floor. Time had long since lost meaning, the steady motion of my arms blurring into a monotonous rhythm. Dip the sponge. Scrub the floor. Rinse. Repeat. My fingers felt raw, my knuckles stiff, and every joint in my body ached from the relentless work. I was a puppet, my strings pulled by the demands of the day, my body aching with every movement.

The cold had seeped into my bones, making my movements sluggish and mechanical. My knees screamed in protest each time I shifted, the rough floor beneath them a constant reminder of how far I’d fallen. But I barely felt it anymore—my body had become a machine, moving on autopilot as my mind drifted into a foggy haze.

At some point, the soft ache in my bladder had returned, but I couldn’t bring myself to care. It was easier not to fight it, to let the inevitable happen without resistance. The warm, humiliating spread through the already-soaked padding beneath my dress barely registered, just another indignity in a day that had stripped me of everything. My cheeks didn’t even flush this time; I was too numb to feel the shame that had burned so fiercely before. I was a ghost, moving through the motions without feeling the weight of my actions.

The sponge slipped from my grasp for what felt like the hundredth time, and I fumbled for it, my fingers trembling as I plunged it back into the soapy water. The faint splash barely registered in my ears. My vision blurred, and I stared blankly at the floor, my scrubbing slow and thoughtless. Each pass of the sponge felt heavier, as though the weight of the day pressed down on my hands, my shoulders, and my heart.

Clara worked beside me, her movements steady and sure, though I could see the weariness in the way her shoulders sagged and the occasional pause in her rhythm. She hadn’t spoken in hours, her focus entirely on the task at hand. The silence between us wasn’t uncomfortable; it was just... there. Heavy. Oppressive. A silence that felt like it belonged in these cold, lifeless halls.

My mind was blank, my thoughts scattered and unreachable. The memories of my former life—of silk dresses and grand halls, of Dorian’s warm smile—felt like distant dreams, unreachable in the fog of exhaustion. All that remained was the sound of the sponge against the floor, the faint creak of the lanterns swaying in the cool drafts, and the occasional drip of soapy water pooling around my knees.

I wasn’t a princess anymore. I wasn’t even Liliana. I was a nameless servant girl, lost in the endless grind of scrubbing floors. The weight of it pressed down on me, suffocating and relentless, until there was nothing left but the motion of my arms and the faint hope that someday, somehow, this wouldn’t be my life. But tonight, that hope felt as faint as the lanterns flickering above us, their light barely holding back the shadows that crept closer with every hour.

“Lila? Hey.” Clara’s voice was soft but insistent, cutting through the haze that had enveloped my mind. I blinked slowly, my vision swimming as I looked up at her. Her pale blue eyes narrowed slightly with concern, her hand resting lightly on my arm. “We’re done,” she said quietly, her words gentle but firm. “Come on. Let’s get this over with.”

Done? I blinked again, glancing down at the floor beneath me. It was spotless, the once-grimy stones now gleaming faintly in the dim light of the lanterns. I hadn’t even realized we’d finished. My hands ached, raw and trembling, my knees stiff and sore from hours of scrubbing, but I barely registered the pain. My mind felt foggy, as though I’d drifted somewhere far away while my body continued the task on its own.

Clara tugged gently at my arm, her touch grounding me. “Come on,” she said again, her voice a little more insistent this time. “We need to put the supplies away before the headmistress starts looking for us.”

I nodded numbly, forcing myself to rise. My legs protested the motion, shaking beneath me as I straightened. Every muscle in my body screamed for rest, but I clutched the handle of my bucket and followed Clara down the dim corridor, my movements stiff and mechanical.

The walk back to the cleaning closet felt like a blur, the sounds of our footsteps and the faint sloshing of soapy water barely registering in my ears. Clara walked ahead, her braid swaying with each step, her pace steady despite the clear fatigue etched into her movements. I stumbled after her, my mind blank, my body on autopilot.

When we reached the closet, Clara handed over her bucket and sponge with a curt nod, and I followed her lead, placing mine on the counter with trembling hands. The gray-haired servant barely glanced at me as she took it, her face as tired and worn as I felt. I wiped my damp hands on the coarse fabric of my dress, the soaked padding beneath it pressing uncomfortably against my skin with every movement.

“Come on,” Clara murmured, her voice low as she motioned for me to follow. I trailed after her, my steps slow and unsteady, as we made our way back toward the main gathering hall. The sound of voices and the faint hum of activity grew louder as we approached, the oppressive silence of the east wing replaced by the low murmur of other servants returning from their tasks.

The headmistress’s commanding presence was impossible to miss, her sharp voice cutting through the noise like a blade. She stood near the front of the room, her severe bun and immaculate uniform as intimidating as ever. Her dark eyes swept over the returning girls, her expression stern and watchful. Even in my exhausted state, I felt the weight of her gaze, and I instinctively lowered my head, shrinking into the background.

Clara nudged me gently, her touch steadying as we stepped into the room. “Keep your head down,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “We’ll be out of here soon enough.”

I nodded faintly, the movement almost mechanical, as I followed her into the gathering hall. The clatter of returning supplies and the whispered exchanges between the other servants filled the space, but I barely heard it. My body felt like it was moving on its own, my mind too clouded by exhaustion to process anything beyond the immediate moment. The weight of the day hung heavily on my shoulders, but somewhere, buried beneath the fatigue, a faint ember of resolve still flickered, refusing to be extinguished.

The headmistress’s sharp voice cut through the low murmur of the hall like a blade, silencing the whispers and idle movements of the gathered servants. I shrank further into myself, keeping my head low as the weight of her gaze swept over the room, her dark eyes narrowed and calculating. She stood at the front of the gathering hall, her posture rigid, her hands clasped tightly in front of her. Every inch of her exuded authority, and even in my exhausted stupor, I felt a shiver of unease ripple through me.

“Report,” she said curtly, her voice firm. “Each of you will tell me what you accomplished today and where you worked. I will be inspecting your areas personally, and let me be clear—if I find anything amiss, anything at all, you will regret it.”

The girls shuffled nervously, their eyes averted as, one by one, they stepped forward to give their accounts. The tension in the air was palpable, the low voices of the servants blending into a steady hum as the headmistress listened with an expression of cold detachment. Occasionally, she would nod or wave a hand dismissively, moving quickly from one report to the next.

“If you missed a spot,” she continued her tone sharper now, “tell me now. If I discover it myself, I assure you, your punishment will be twice as severe.”

I swallowed hard, my pulse quickening as her gaze shifted from servant to servant. My body felt frozen, my exhaustion momentarily forgotten as anxiety knotted in my chest. My mind raced, trying to remember if there was anything Clara or I might have missed in the east wing. The thought of standing before her, of having to answer for any mistake, sent a wave of dread through me.

And then her piercing gaze landed on us.

“You two,” she said sharply, her eyes narrowing. “Report.”

I froze, the words caught in my throat. My mind blanked completely, and for a horrifying moment, all I could hear was the rush of blood in my ears. But before I could stammer out an answer—or worse, fail to answer at all—Clara stepped forward, her voice steady and composed.

“We scrubbed the east wing thoroughly, ma’am,” Clara said, her head bowed slightly in deference. “Every hall and corner was cleaned to standard. We didn’t miss anything.”

The headmistress’s eyes flicked between the two of us, her expression unreadable. “Is that so?” she said coolly, her tone laced with suspicion. “I’ll be the judge of that.”

Clara nodded quickly, her movements respectful but not overly eager. “Yes, ma’am.”

The headmistress’s gaze lingered on me for a moment, sharp and probing, and I held my breath, willing myself not to flinch under her scrutiny. Finally, she turned away, moving on to the next group of servants with a flick of her wrist.

Clara let out a barely audible sigh of relief, and I followed her lead, my shoulders sagging slightly as the tension eased. I cast a quick, grateful glance at her, but she didn’t look back, her attention already focused on the headmistress’s next words.

“Dismissed,” the headmistress said after a long pause, her voice echoing in the quiet hall. “You are expected to be in your places tomorrow at dawn. Do not be late.”

The servants began to disperse, their movements quick and silent as they filed out of the hall. Clara nudged me lightly, her touch snapping me out of my daze. “Come on,” she whispered. “Let’s go.”

I nodded, my legs feeling like lead as I followed her out of the room. My body ached with exhaustion, my mind still buzzing with the fear that had gripped me moments before. But Clara’s calm, decisive response had saved me, and for that, I was quietly, deeply grateful.

The walk to the dorm room felt like an eternity. My legs dragged with each step, the ache in my muscles sharp and relentless after a day of scrubbing. The narrow corridors seemed endless, their walls dimly lit by flickering lanterns that cast dancing shadows on the rough stone. Clara moved ahead of me with purpose, her steps lighter despite the wear of the day. I stumbled after her, my bucket long abandoned, my mind clouded with exhaustion and the growing awareness of the soaked padding beneath my dress.

The farther we walked from the gathering hall, the quieter the castle became. The hum of voices and the clatter of supplies faded, replaced by the distant creak of timbers and the occasional muffled sound from above. The air was cooler here, carrying the faint scent of damp stone and candle wax. Clara said nothing, but her presence ahead of me was steady, a silent guide through the labyrinthine passages.

Finally, we reached a heavy wooden door near the end of a narrow hallway. Clara pushed it open without hesitation, and I followed her inside, the sound of the door closing behind me feeling like the punctuation to the day. The room was cramped but functional, with two narrow beds, two small desks, and two plain wardrobes tucked against the walls. A washbasin sat on one of the desks, the water inside still and faintly glistening in the lantern’s glow. The room felt stifling, not because of its size but because of the inescapable proximity.

Clara moved without hesitation, shutting the door behind us and stripping off her dress in one fluid motion, tossing it onto her bed in a wrinkled heap. She stood in her undergarments, completely unbothered, as she dipped a cloth into the basin and began wiping away the grime of the day.

I froze, my eyes darting to the floor as heat flooded my face. “I—I’ll wait,” I stammered, gesturing vaguely toward the door. “You go ahead.”

Clara paused, turning to look at me with one eyebrow raised, her damp cloth in hand. “Wait?” she said, her tone incredulous. “For what?”

“I just—” My words caught in my throat. “I’m fine. I’ll clean up later.”

Clara’s skeptical look deepened, and she planted a hand on her hip, the other holding the cloth. “Lila,” she said, her voice firm but not unkind, “you’ve been on your knees scrubbing floors all day. You’re not fine. And unless you’re planning to sleep covered in filth, you need to wash up.”

I swallowed hard, shifting uncomfortably as the soaked diaper beneath my dress pressed against my skin. My cheeks burned hotter, and I shook my head. “I can handle it,” I said weakly.

Clara snorted softly, shaking her head as she turned back to the basin. “You’ll get used to this eventually,” she said, her voice softening but still carrying an edge of practicality. “Modesty doesn’t get you very far here. We’re all the same, Lila. Dirty, tired, and trying to stay ahead of the headmistress’s wrath.”

I bit my lip, glancing at the small wardrobe by my bed. “I’ll manage,” I murmured, hoping she’d drop the subject.

She didn’t. Clara turned to face me fully, her expression sharp now. “No, you won’t. If your scrubbing earlier is anything to go by, you don’t know how to take care of yourself here. And trust me, if you don’t, the headmistress will notice. She’s already got eyes on you.”

My heart sank at her words. “She’ll... notice?” I whispered, my voice barely audible.

“Of course she will,” Clara said bluntly. “She checks all of us. Clothes. Cleanliness. Everything. If you’re not presentable, you’ll know it.” She gestured toward the washbasin. “So, unless you want to end up over her lap and spanked tomorrow as punishment, you’ll clean up. And if you don’t know how, I’ll help.”

I swallowed hard, panic creeping into my chest. How could I possibly clean myself without revealing my humiliating secret? Clara’s piercing gaze told me she wouldn’t let this go, and the thought of the headmistress noticing anything out of the ordinary sent a fresh wave of dread through me. I was trapped, and Clara, for all her practicality, wasn’t going to let me escape.