The Crimson Crown

As the darkness of sleep pulled me under, the weight of the day melted away, taking with it the aches in my body and the suffocating shame that had clung to me like a second skin. In the quiet refuge of my dreams, the cold stone walls of the servant’s quarters vanished, replaced by warmth and light. The dull ache in my hands and knees was replaced with a comforting sensation—a gentle, soothing pressure that seemed to wrap around me like a cocoon.

I found myself in Dorian’s arms, his strong embrace holding me close against his chest. The world around us was soft and golden, as though the very air shimmered with light. His gaze met mine, and in his eyes, I saw nothing but love and adoration. There was no judgment, no hesitation—just an endless well of affection that made my heart ache with longing.

“You’re safe now,” he whispered his voice like a balm to my weary soul. His hand brushed gently through my hair, his touch tender as he cradled me against him. “You’re with me. That’s all that matters.”

The humility of my day, the servitude, the shame—all of it was gone, like a fleeting shadow chased away by the light. In his arms, I wasn’t a servant. I wasn’t a girl hiding in fear. I was simply his wife, his beloved, the one he held close as though I were the most precious thing in the world.

The bulk of the diaper beneath me should have filled me with embarrassment, but it didn’t. Not here. Not with him. He looked at me as though I were perfect, his fingers tracing soft circles along my back. “I love you,” he murmured, his voice low and steady. “Every part of you. You never need to hide from me.”

Tears pricked my eyes, but they weren’t born of shame. They were of relief, of joy, of the overwhelming sense of safety that I had thought I’d lost forever. His arms were my haven, his warmth chasing away the cold that had settled into my soul during the long, grueling hours of the day. I pressed closer to him, my hands clutching at the fabric of his shirt as though he might vanish if I let go.

“I miss you,” I whispered, my voice trembling. “I want to be with you again.”

“You will,” he promised, his lips brushing against my forehead. “We’ll find our way back to each other. No matter what, I’ll always come for you.”

The dream felt so vivid, so real, that I could feel the steady beat of his heart beneath my cheek, the faint scent of him—like cedar and rain—enveloping me. The love in his voice, the certainty in his words, wrapped around me like a shield, banishing the fear and doubt that had haunted me since the moment we were separated.

For a brief, fleeting moment, the weight of the world was gone. There was no castle under siege, no servitude, no shame. There was only Dorian, his love for me like a steady flame in the darkness, and the quiet promise that we would find each other again.

The warmth of his embrace lingered as I let my eyes drift closed in the golden light of the dream. Dorian’s arms were steady around me, his gentle voice soothing every ache and worry I’d carried. “You’re perfect,” he whispered, his hand brushing through my hair, his touch light but grounding. His presence made me feel whole, safe, and cherished in a way I hadn’t felt since I’d lost everything.

But the warmth began to fade, the golden glow dimming as I felt a soft tug on my shoulder. His voice grew distant, the sound of his love-filled whispers dissolving into the gray fog of waking. No. Please, no. I tried to hold onto him, to cling to the sensation of his hands, his voice, his love. But it slipped through my fingers like water, leaving only the faintest echoes of memory.

“Lila,” Clara’s voice cut through the remnants of my dream, firm but not unkind. “Come on, it’s time to wake up.”

My eyes fluttered open, and the dream shattered completely. The soft glow of Dorian’s presence was replaced by the cold gray of the servant’s dorm room, the lanterns still unlit, the only light filtering faintly through a small, barred window. Clara stood over me, her pale blue eyes sharp and expectant, her hands resting on her hips.

Reality crashed into me all at once—the ache in my body, the stiffness in my limbs, and, most humiliating of all, the damp, swollen padding beneath me. I shifted slightly, the sodden diaper pressing against my skin, and heat flooded my cheeks as the last traces of Dorian’s love and praise dissolved into nothing.

My mind flashed back to my fading dream, Dorian’s hand between my legs, praising me as I soaked my diaper, his lips upon mine. That praise, that warmth faded as shame filled me, realization hitting me like a hammer; I had wet the bed. Or, well, would have without a diaper.

Clara’s eyes flicked down to the unmistakable bulk beneath the covers, her expression softening into something halfway between sympathy and practicality. “Figures,” she said, more to herself than to me, before letting out a small sigh. “You didn’t think to ask for help last night, did you?”

I couldn’t meet her gaze, my face burning as I stared at the rough fabric of the blanket pulled tightly around me. “I—” The words caught in my throat, a lump of shame and embarrassment choking me into silence.

Clara shook her head, her voice firm but not cruel. “It’s fine. Let’s get you sorted before the headmistress finds out. She doesn’t take kindly to... well, anything that’s not pristine.” She gestured for me to sit up, her no-nonsense tone leaving no room for protest.

I hesitated, my body frozen with humiliation, but Clara was unrelenting. “Lila,” she said, her voice softening slightly, “I get it. It’s not easy. But you’re here now, and you need to keep it together if you’re going to survive. Let me help.”

Her words stung—not because they were harsh, but because they were true. Slowly, reluctantly, I shifted to sit up, the soaked padding beneath me squishing slightly as I moved. Tears pricked the corners of my eyes, the shame of the moment almost unbearable, but Clara didn’t flinch. She simply pulled back the covers, her movements brisk but not unkind.

“Let’s get this over with,” she said quietly, reaching for the supplies she’d placed in the wardrobe the night before. As she worked, her expression was steady, her tone light as she murmured, “You’ve got to show me some strength, Lila. It’s the only way you’ll make it through this place.”

Her words echoed in my mind, cutting through the fog of humiliation as I swallowed back the tears. Strength. Somehow, I had to find it—if not for myself, then for the faint memory of Dorian’s embrace, the promise of his love, and the dream of one day reclaiming the life that felt so impossibly far away.

Clara worked with a brisk efficiency, but I could see the faint weariness in her eyes, the subtle sag of her shoulders as she knelt beside me. Despite her stoic expression, there was no denying the exhaustion etched into her movements. She didn’t complain, though—not about the early hour, the chilled air of the dorm room, or the task at hand. Her hands moved steadily, her focus entirely on changing me into a fresh diaper.

“There we go,” she muttered as she taped it snugly into place, her tone firm but not unkind. She stood with a small groan, brushing her hands against her leg before extending one to me. “Up you go. We’ve got work to do.”

I took her hand hesitantly, her grip steady as she helped me to my feet. The fresh padding was thick and soft against me, a stark contrast to the cold, damp remnants of the night before. I felt a flush rise to my cheeks as I ran my fingers over my diaper, but Clara didn’t seem to notice—or, more likely, she chose not to comment.

She turned toward the wardrobes, pulling out two fresh servant outfits and laying one across the bed before beginning to dress herself. I watched her for a moment, noting the quiet care she took in buttoning each part of her uniform just so before I followed suit. The plain brown dress felt scratchy against my skin, but Clara stepped in without a word, deftly adjusting the buttons and smoothing out the fabric with a practiced hand.

“Hold still,” she said, her voice sharp but not unkind as she fussed with the hem of my skirt, ensuring it hung just right. “The headmistress will notice every detail, so we don’t take shortcuts. Not with this.”

I nodded faintly, letting her work. Her fingers brushed my hair next, pulling it into a neat braid that felt tighter than my usual style, but I didn’t complain. Her movements were brisk and efficient, but there was a quiet care in the way she smoothed the stray strands and tucked them behind my ears.

“Hands,” she said, motioning toward me. I hesitated, then extended them, palms up. Clara’s sharp eyes scanned them, and she let out a faint hum of disapproval.

“Fingernails,” she muttered, grabbing a small brush from the basin. “Honestly, Lila, you’ve got to pay attention to these things.”

I bit back a protest, feeling the bristle of the brush scrape against my nails as she cleaned away the remnants of the day before. It stung slightly, but I didn’t dare pull away. When she finished, she examined her work with a small nod of satisfaction.

“Better,” she said simply. “Now stand straight. Let me check your crinkles.”

My cheeks flushed, but I did as she asked, standing as tall as I could while she ran her hands over the fabric of my dress, smoothing out the wrinkles and tugging at the seams until everything fell perfectly into place. When she finally stepped back, her gaze softened slightly, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of her lips.

“There,” she said, nodding in approval. “You almost look like you belong here.”

I didn’t know whether to take it as a compliment or a reminder of how far I had fallen, but I managed a small, shaky smile. Clara’s exhaustion was evident, but so was her determination to keep both of us in line. For all her sharpness, something was steadying about her presence, something that made me feel, however faintly, like I might just survive another day.

With that, we left the relative safety of our dorm. Clara led me back to the central room, her steps brisk despite the weight of exhaustion I knew she carried. I followed closely, my freshly braided hair tugging slightly with each movement, the servant’s dress stiff and snug against my form. The hallway was quieter than the night before, the faint murmurs of waking servants echoing through the stone walls as we made our way.

As we entered the central room, the scene before us made my stomach clench. The servants were lined up in two long rows, their heads bowed, their hands clasped tightly in front of them. The air was thick with tension, a palpable sense of unease that seemed to ripple through the room as the Headmistress made her way down the line.

She moved with a slow, deliberate precision, her sharp eyes scanning each girl from head to toe. Her dark, severe dress seemed to absorb the light around her, her towering figure an ominous presence in the already dim room. One by one, she stopped before each servant, inspecting every detail of their appearance.

Her fingers were quick and probing, tugging at a girl’s hemline here, brushing a lock of hair back into place there. She examined nails with a critical eye; her lips pressed into a thin line as she muttered occasional corrections. When she found something out of place, her reprimands were sharp and biting, cutting through the quiet like a whip. A servant with a frayed hemline or untidy braid would flinch under her gaze, muttering apologies as they tried to fix the issue on the spot.

“Unacceptable,” the Headmistress hissed as she passed a trembling girl, brushing lint from her shoulder with a flick of her fingers. “See me in my quarters after breakfast.”

Clara nudged me gently, guiding me into the line. My heart pounded as I fell into place, my hands gripping the folds of my skirt to keep them from trembling. Clara stood beside me, her posture straight, her face impassive as though this was just another part of her routine.

The Headmistress continued her inspection, her sharp eyes sweeping over each girl with the same cold precision. With every step she took closer to us, my breath grew shallower, the knot in my stomach tightening. I could feel Clara’s steady presence beside me, but even that wasn’t enough to stop the wave of anxiety that threatened to consume me.

When the Headmistress finally stopped in front of Clara, her gaze swept over her briefly before nodding in faint approval. “Adequate,” she said curtly, moving on to me.

Her eyes narrowed slightly as she studied me, her sharp gaze traveling from my neatly braided hair to the folds of my dress. Her fingers brushed against my sleeves, tugging them into alignment before her cold hand gripped my chin and tilted my face upward. My breath hitched as her eyes bored into mine, the weight of her scrutiny almost unbearable.

“Hm,” she murmured, her lips pursing slightly as she released me. Her hands moved to check the hem of my skirt, smoothing it down before glancing at my hands. She lifted them with a faint sneer, examining my nails closely.

“Clean, for once,” she muttered. “Let’s hope you can keep it that way.”

The moment her attention moved on to the next girl, my knees nearly buckled with relief. Clara’s elbow nudged me lightly, her gaze still fixed ahead, but I could sense the faintest hint of reassurance in the gesture.

I straightened, swallowing hard as the Headmistress continued her slow, critical march down the line. The tension in the room remained heavy, but for the moment, I’d passed unnoticed. That, at least, was something to cling to.

The Headmistress’s sharp voice rang out at last, cutting through the suffocating tension in the room. “Dismissed,” she said curtly, her icy gaze sweeping over the line of servants one final time. The collective exhale that followed was almost palpable, the servants moving in unison as they broke formation and filed out toward the dining hall.

I kept my head low, my hands gripping the folds of my skirt as I followed Clara. My heart still pounded from the Headmistress’s inspection, the phantom weight of her scrutinizing gaze lingering on my skin. My mind raced with a dozen worries, but one thought loomed above the rest: What happens when she finds out?

The bulky padding beneath my dress pressed against me with every step, a humiliating reminder of the secret I carried. I’d managed to avoid notice this time, but how long could I keep it hidden? The Headmistress had already made it clear she tolerated no imperfections, and if she discovered the truth... I shuddered, unwilling to imagine the consequences.

Clara walked ahead of me, her pace brisk but calm, as though the inspection hadn’t rattled her in the slightest. I envied her ease, the way she carried herself with quiet confidence even under the Headmistress’s unforgiving glare. But I couldn’t shake the weight of my fears, the knowledge that my secret wasn’t just humiliating—it could be dangerous.

As we approached the dining hall, the smell of warm bread and weak porridge wafted through the air, but it did little to settle my nerves. The clatter of plates and low murmurs of conversation filled the space as servants lined up for their meager meals, their postures still tense from the morning’s ordeal.

Clara glanced back at me, her pale blue eyes narrowing slightly. “You’re quiet,” she said, her tone low but steady as we joined the line.

I hesitated, my hands twisting in my skirt as I tried to think of an answer. “Just tired,” I murmured finally, avoiding her gaze.

She frowned faintly but didn’t press. “Eat fast,” she said instead, her voice brisk as she grabbed a plate and handed it to me. “We’ve got a long day ahead.”

I nodded, clutching the plate tightly as we moved toward the tables. But even as I followed Clara and sat down beside her, the worry gnawed at the edges of my mind. What will happen when they find out? The question loomed like a shadow, dark and unrelenting, as I stared down at the meager portion of bread and porridge on my plate.

The fear of discovery, humiliation, and the unknown made every bite feel like a struggle, but I forced myself to eat. For now, I had survived the morning, but the weight of my secret pressed down harder than ever. How long could I keep it hidden? And when the inevitable happened, how would I endure it? The worry churned in my chest, but I pushed it down as best I could, knowing that the day had only just begun.