The Crimson Crown

Clara and I worked quickly, the spilled water pooling and spreading across the floor as we scrubbed furiously to clean it up before it seeped further into the cracks. My arms ached from the frantic motion, but the sting of exertion was nothing compared to the burning anger churning inside me. Every swipe of the sponge felt like an outlet, yet it did nothing to extinguish the fire that threatened to consume me.

The faint sound of boots echoed from the throne room again, and I glanced up just in time to see the intruder king and his entourage stepping through the archway. He moved with a languid grace, his golden-yellow robes swishing softly as he walked, his head held high with an air of mocking arrogance. His attendants followed close behind, their sharp black uniforms a stark contrast to the brightness of his attire.

He paused briefly as he passed us, his cold, calculating gaze sweeping over the scene. I kept my head down, my hands trembling as I scrubbed harder, but his presence was suffocating, like a storm cloud looming overhead. The room felt colder, his disdain for everything around him palpable.

“How fitting,” he said, his voice smooth but dripping with disdain. “The great kingdom of reds and silvers, reduced to this.” His eyes lingered on us for a moment, his lip curling into a sneer. “Its princess vanished, its people broken, and its servants... well, at least you two seem to have found your proper place.”

My breath caught in my throat, the anger bubbling higher, hotter, at his words. My hand faltered on the sponge, my fingers gripping it tightly as I forced myself to keep scrubbing. Proper place? The sheer audacity of his comment made my blood boil, but I couldn’t let it show. Not here. Not now.

Clara didn’t look up either, her movements steady and deliberate as she worked beside me, her face carefully neutral. If she was seething like I was, she hid it well, but I could see the faint tension in her jaw, the way her fingers gripped her sponge just a little too tightly.

The man sniffed dismissively, as though we were nothing more than dirt under his heel, before turning on his heel and continuing down the corridor. His attendants followed wordlessly, their faces blank masks of compliance, leaving behind only the fading echo of their footsteps.

The moment they were gone, my sponge slipped from my hand, falling into the soapy puddle with a faint splash. I clenched my fists tightly, my nails digging into my palms as I stared down at the floor, my chest heaving with barely restrained fury. The anger roared in my ears, a deafening tide of humiliation and hatred that threatened to spill over.

Clara glanced at me out of the corner of her eye, her expression wary but calm. “Don’t,” she said quietly, her voice low but firm. “Don’t let him see it. That’s what he wants.”

I swallowed hard, forcing myself to take a deep, shuddering breath. The fire in my chest didn’t dim, but I pushed it down, burying it beneath the weight of my fear and the memory of the crack in the stone. Clara was right—if I let my emotions get the better of me, I’d only make things worse.

Still, the words echoed in my mind, sharp and cutting: Your proper place. The intruder’s mocking tone, his disdain for everything my kingdom had stood for, would haunt me long after this moment. But I won’t forget it. I wouldn’t let it go.

One day, I would make him regret ever stepping foot in my castle. For now, I scrubbed harder, channeling every ounce of my anger into the task at hand, the faint glow of resolve flickering brighter within me.

With the guards gone and the threat momentarily averted, Clara worked in silence, but her presence beside me felt heavy, weighted with unspoken questions. I could feel her eyes on me, even when she wasn’t looking directly. Her movements were mechanical, her sponge gliding over the stone floor with practiced efficiency, but I knew her mind was elsewhere—on me, on the crack in the stone, on everything I hadn’t explained.

I didn’t dare meet her gaze. The tension between us hung thick in the air, made sharper by the sharp crack of the fissure behind us, barely hidden now by the drying water. Clara didn’t press, not here, not now, but I could feel her unanswered questions burning through the quiet.

Who are you? What did you do? Her words from earlier echoed in my mind, and I bit my lip hard, forcing myself to focus on the repetitive motion of scrubbing the floor. I didn’t have answers for her—none that I could give, none that wouldn’t put us both in even greater danger. For now, the safest thing I could do was keep my head down and stay quiet.

But my anger refused to dissipate, simmering just beneath the surface with a heat that felt all-consuming. Every swipe of the sponge did nothing to ease the boiling rage in my chest, the echo of the intruder’s mocking words ringing in my ears. “Proper place.” I clenched my teeth, my arms straining as I scrubbed harder, as though I could somehow erase his presence from my mind if I only worked hard enough.

I was so lost in my fury that I didn’t notice the faint, growing pressure in my stomach until it was nearly too late. My muscles tensed, and my breath hitched as the realization hit me. My heart sank, a fresh wave of humiliation washing over me as the anger twisted into something sharper, more immediate. I tried to focus, to will the sensation away, but my body betrayed me, and I froze, my sponge slipping from my hand.

I glanced at Clara out of the corner of my eye, but she didn’t seem to notice, her focus still on the floor as she worked. My cheeks burned, the heat of embarrassment mixing with the simmering anger, and I clenched my fists tightly, trying to keep my body in check. But the pressure was relentless, my exhaustion and fury leaving me with little control, and the shame of what was about to happen was nearly unbearable.

Not here. Not now. My mind raced, panic bubbling beneath the surface, but there was nothing I could do. The fire of my anger couldn’t save me this time, and as I sat back on my heels, the reality of my situation hit me with a crushing weight.

The anger, the humiliation, the helplessness—it all swirled together in a storm of emotions that left me trembling, my hands gripping my knees as I tried to steady myself. I didn’t know if Clara would notice or if she already had, but I couldn’t bring myself to look at her. All I could do was sit there, my body stiff with shame, and pray that this moment would pass without her saying a word.

The pressure was unbearable now, an unrelenting force that left me trembling as I knelt on the hard stone floor. My body ached from the strain of holding on, my muscles quivering with the effort, but I could feel my control slipping—like sand through my fingers, no matter how hard I tried to hold it back. My breath hitched, and my cheeks burned hotter with every passing second, the mounting shame nearly suffocating.

And then, it happened.

Before I could stop it, before I could even prepare myself, my body gave in. A faint, involuntary grunt escaped my lips, and I froze, my face blazing as the humiliating reality set in. The soft, warm swelling beneath me was undeniable, spreading as my body pushed against my will, the diaper straining to accommodate the mess.

I couldn’t stop it. The anger, the shame, the helplessness—they all crashed over me at once, leaving me trembling as I knelt there, unable to move, unable even to breathe. My hands gripped the sponge in front of me, trembling as my cheeks burned so brightly I was sure they must have been glowing. The faint rustle beneath my dress was almost deafening in the stillness of the corridor, and I clenched my eyes shut, willing myself to disappear.

A soft gasp broke the quiet, and my heart sank as I glanced up, meeting Clara’s wide, startled eyes. Her face was a mixture of shock and realization, her pale blue eyes darting from my face to the faintly bulging outline beneath my dress.

She blinked, her lips parting as though to say something, but no words came. For a moment, neither of us moved, the silence between us stretching unbearably. Her expression shifted, softening into something almost like pity, and I wanted to scream, to run, to hide from her gaze.

“Lila...” she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

I couldn’t answer her. My throat was tight, my chest heaving with humiliation as tears pricked the corners of my eyes. I looked away, staring at the stone floor as though it could swallow me whole. The anger that had burned so hotly within me moments ago was gone, snuffed out by the crushing weight of my shame.

Clara didn’t move closer, didn’t press. Her gaze lingered on me for a moment longer before she looked away, her hands returning to the bucket and sponge as she resumed scrubbing the floor. She didn’t say another word, but the tension in the air was heavy, her presence beside me both a comfort and a reminder of my humiliation.

I stayed frozen for what felt like an eternity, my body stiff and my heart racing as I fought to keep the tears from falling. The shame was overwhelming and suffocating, and for the first time, I felt truly, utterly powerless.

Clara’s voice was low and steady, but her words hit me like a blow. “We can’t go back until lunch,” she said quietly, her gaze flicking toward me, her expression unreadable. “You’ll have to wait.”

Wait? My heart sank further, the weight of her words crushing me as I sat frozen on my knees. The swollen, messy diaper beneath me was unbearable—hot and stifling one moment, growing cool and damp the next with every subtle movement. Each shift of my body pressed the shame deeper, the sticky, humiliating reality of my situation impossible to ignore.

I couldn’t meet her eyes. I couldn’t even muster the strength to respond. The lump in my throat grew tighter, the tears I’d fought so hard to hold back threatening to spill over. My hands trembled as I reached for the sponge, gripping it tightly in an attempt to ground myself, but the effort was futile. The shame was too great, too suffocating, and it crushed me beneath its weight.

I scrubbed the floor mechanically, the rough stone beneath me blurred by my watery vision. The faint smell of soap and damp stone mixed with the stale scent of my disgrace and the sound of my sponge scraping against the floor barely registered in my ears. My silent tears fell freely now, dripping into the soapy water and mixing with the grime I worked to clean.

Clara said nothing, her presence beside me a silent weight. She scrubbed steadily, her movements methodical, but I could feel her eyes flicking toward me every so often, her gaze heavy with something I couldn’t place—pity, perhaps, or maybe frustration. She didn’t speak, didn’t try to console me, but her silence was almost worse. It left me alone with my thoughts, my shame, my tears.

Each shift of my body was a fresh reminder of the mess I carried, the squishing sound beneath me a cruel accompaniment to the rhythm of my scrubbing. The cool dampness of the diaper clung to my skin, each movement pressing it closer, making me hyper-aware of just how far I had fallen.

My tears blurred my vision, but I kept scrubbing, my arms moving mechanically as though the act could somehow erase the humiliation that consumed me. The soapy water rippled beneath me, catching the faint light from the corridor’s lanterns, and for a moment, I felt like I might drown in it—drown in my shame, my helplessness, my silent, unspoken pain.

I wanted to scream, to cry out, to do something, but I couldn’t. All I could do was scrub, the rhythm of my movements broken only by the soft, shaky sobs that escaped my throat despite my best efforts to hold them back. The castle floor was cleaner now, gleaming faintly in the dim light, but no amount of scrubbing could clean away the mess inside me.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Clara sat back on her heels and let out a soft sigh. “That’s it,” she said, her voice laced with exhaustion. “We’re done here. Time for lunch.”

Her words brought a wave of relief, but it was fleeting. The weight of the mess in my diaper was a constant, humiliating reminder of my situation. Each step I’d taken that morning had pressed the shame deeper, the cool, sticky bulk clinging to my skin and making every motion unbearable. When my bladder grew full, I didn’t even bother trying to hold it; what was the point? My body ached from hours of scrubbing, but it was nothing compared to the mental toll of carrying this secret so close to discovery.

Clara stood, her movements stiff but efficient as she gathered her bucket and sponge. “Come on, Lila,” she said, nodding toward the hallway. “Let’s get this back to the closet.”

I rose slowly, my legs trembling from the strain of kneeling for so long. The diaper squished beneath me as I stood, and I bit my lip hard, willing myself not to cry again. I followed Clara silently, my arms full of cleaning supplies as we made our way down the dim corridors, the sound of our footsteps echoing faintly against the stone walls.

When we reached the cleaning closet, Clara deposited her tools with practiced ease, her hands moving quickly as she rinsed out her sponge and set it aside. I followed her lead, the cold water stinging my raw hands as I cleaned the sponge before placing it back in its spot. The relief of washing away the grime of the morning was fleeting, overshadowed by the discomfort that clung to me with every step.

Clara glanced at me briefly, her expression neutral but her eyes sharp as she motioned toward the corridor. “Let’s go,” she said simply, turning on her heel and leading the way to the dining hall.

The walk was quiet, save for the faint murmurs of other servants heading in the same direction. My gaze was fixed on the ground, my steps careful and measured as I followed Clara. But as we approached the dining hall, my heart sank. To get there, we had to pass the main room the headmistress used—a space that was as imposing as the woman herself.

The heavy door to the room was open, and the headmistress stood just inside, her arms crossed and her sharp eyes scanning the hallway. She was waiting, her severe presence making the air feel colder and heavier. Her gaze locked onto us as we approached, and my stomach twisted into knots.

Clara’s pace slowed, her posture stiffening as she nodded respectfully. “Ma’am,” she said, her voice steady but cautious.

The headmistress’s lips thinned as she stepped forward, her dark eyes sweeping over both of us. Her gaze lingered on me for a moment, and I froze, my heart pounding as the weight of her scrutiny bore down on me. My mind raced, panic bubbling beneath the surface as I prayed she wouldn’t notice—wouldn’t smell—wouldn’t suspect.

“Lunchtime,” she said curtly, her tone sharp as a blade. “Don’t dawdle. You’ll have twice the work this afternoon if you fall behind.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Clara replied quickly, bowing her head slightly before nudging me to keep moving.

The headmistress’s eyes followed us as we passed, her presence looming like a storm cloud. I kept my gaze firmly on the ground, my cheeks burning with shame as the squish beneath my dress felt louder, more obvious, with every step. 

As we passed the doorway, the headmistress’s sharp voice cut through the quiet hallway like a blade. “Stop.”

Clara and I froze mid-step, the weight of her command heavy and unyielding. My breath caught in my throat, and I turned just enough to see her stepping out of the room, her dark eyes narrowing as she approached.

Her nose wrinkled slightly, her gaze flicking between us with that sharp, calculating intensity I had come to dread. “Something is amiss,” she said, her voice low but firm, a dangerous edge lacing her words. Her eyes lingered on Clara first, her expression unreadable, before shifting to me. My heart pounded in my chest as her gaze bore into me, heavy and unrelenting.

“Step forward,” she commanded, gesturing to me with a flick of her wrist.

Clara cast me a brief, uncertain glance, but I couldn’t meet her eyes. My legs felt like lead as I stepped forward, my knees trembling slightly beneath my dress. The headmistress circled me slowly, her sharp eyes scanning every inch of my uniform, her movements methodical and deliberate.

“There’s something... off,” she muttered, more to herself than to us. Her fingers reached out, brushing against the fabric of my sleeve, adjusting the hem of my dress. “Hair, nails, dress...” She trailed off, her nose wrinkling again as her frown deepened.

The heat of humiliation burned in my cheeks as I stood there, every nerve in my body screaming to run, to hide. The soggy, messy diaper beneath my dress felt impossibly obvious, the bulk pressing against me with every subtle movement. My breaths were shallow, my heart hammering so loudly in my chest that I was sure she could hear it.

Her hand paused at the waistband of my dress, her fingers lingering just below the seam. I froze, panic rising like a tidal wave as her brow furrowed, her sharp gaze snapping to mine.

“Something doesn’t smell right,” she said coldly, her tone sharper now. “Explain.”

“I—I...” The words caught in my throat, and my vision blurred with the sting of tears. My mouth opened, but no sound came out, my mind racing for an excuse, an explanation, anything to deflect her suspicion.

Clara, to her credit, stepped forward quickly, her voice steady despite the tension in the air. “It must be the water, ma’am,” she said, bowing her head respectfully. “We had a spill earlier, and the floor wasn’t as clean as it should have been. It’s likely the smell is lingering.”

The headmistress’s eyes flicked to Clara, her frown deepening. “A spill?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Clara continued, her voice calm but deferential. “We scrubbed it as best we could, but the soapy water spread further than we expected.”

For a long, agonizing moment, the headmistress said nothing, her piercing gaze moving back to me. My knees felt weak, my entire body trembling as I fought to keep still under her scrutiny. Finally, she let out a sharp, irritated breath, stepping back.

“Fix it,” she snapped, her voice clipped. “I will not tolerate any lapses in cleanliness. And ensure it doesn’t happen again.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Clara said quickly, bowing her head again. I followed suit, the motion shaky and awkward, but the headmistress had already turned away, her sharp heels clicking against the stone as she disappeared back into her office.

The moment she was gone, my knees nearly buckled with relief. Clara grabbed my arm, steadying me as she whispered fiercely, “Keep it together, Lila. You’re not out of this yet.”

I nodded faintly, swallowing hard as I fought to steady my breathing. The weight of the diaper beneath my dress felt heavier than ever, but for now, we had escaped for now. But I couldn’t help but feel the headmistress’s gaze lingering, a shadow that would haunt me until I found a way out of this nightmare.