The Crimson Crown

The dining hall was a cacophony of muted voices, the soft clatter of bowls and utensils echoing off the stone walls. I followed Clara silently, the shame of my situation weighing heavily on me as we stepped into the room. The bulk beneath my dress was impossible to ignore, each step pressing the soggy, sticky mess against me. My cheeks burned, and I kept my head low, praying no one would notice.

Clara handed me a plain wooden bowl, its contents a gray, watery stew that sloshed faintly as I took it with trembling hands. I glanced around the room, desperate for some secluded corner where I could hide, but there was no escape from the long rows of tables and benches. Clara moved with quiet purpose, taking a seat near the middle of the room, and I had no choice but to follow her, my steps hesitant and my movements awkward.

As I lowered myself onto the bench, the mess in my diaper squished unpleasantly beneath me, the sensation drawing a sharp intake of breath that I tried to stifle. The humiliation was overwhelming, a fresh wave of heat flooding my face as I shifted uncomfortably, hoping no one had noticed.

Clara was already eating, her spoon scraping against the bottom of her bowl as though nothing was out of the ordinary. I stared at my meal, the thin, unappetizing stew swirling faintly as I hesitated. Hunger gnawed at my stomach, but the shame in my chest made it almost impossible to lift the spoon.

I forced myself to take a bite, the bland flavor doing little to distract me from the heaviness of my situation. As I ate, my thoughts drifted, the simple act of eating bringing with it an unexpected pang of longing. Since becoming a servant, I hadn’t been forced to endure one of the humiliating liquid meals that had once defined my captivity. For a fleeting moment, I almost missed it—not for the formula itself, but for the comfort of those who had fed me.

Dorian. His name echoed in my mind, and my chest tightened as memories of his gentle hands, his patient smile, and the warmth of his voice surfaced. Despite the indignity of those moments, there had been a safety in them, a tenderness that had made the humiliation bearable. Now, seated among strangers, trapped in this degrading situation, that safety felt like a distant dream.

I swallowed hard, my throat tightening as the stew slid down. The room around me faded into a blur of sound and movement, the laughter and chatter of the other servants distant and hollow. All I could feel was the shame pressing against me, both inside and out, and the ache of longing for the one person who had ever made me feel whole.

The wooden spoon trembled in my hand as I forced myself to keep eating, each bite a struggle against the knot in my stomach. Clara glanced at me briefly, her sharp eyes narrowing as though she could sense the storm brewing beneath my carefully maintained facade. She didn’t say anything, though, returning to her meal with the same quiet efficiency that seemed to define her every action.

The minutes stretched on, each one heavier than the last, until finally, the meal was over. My bowl was empty, but the weight in my chest—and the humiliating bulk beneath me—remained. As the other servants began to rise and clear their dishes, I followed Clara silently, my head low and my steps careful. For now, there was no reprieve from my shame, no comfort to be found in the routine of servitude. Only the faint, flickering hope that, somehow, I would endure.

The dining hall was a blur as we finished eating. My cheeks still burned with humiliation, and the soggy, messy diaper beneath my dress felt heavier with every step. I kept my head down, silently following Clara as we bussed our bowls, the faint clatter of dishes ringing hollow in my ears. The shame and discomfort weighed heavily on me, making each movement stiff and awkward.

Clara didn’t say a word as she led me back through the winding corridors to our shared room. Her silence was unnerving, the tension radiating from her in waves that only heightened my sense of dread. When we finally reached the room, she stepped inside first, her shoulders stiff, and as soon as I followed, she turned sharply and slammed the door behind us.

The echo of the door reverberated through the small space, making me cringe. I looked up hesitantly, only to be met with Clara’s piercing gaze. Her arms were crossed tightly over her chest, her posture rigid, her jaw set. Her pale blue eyes burned with frustration, her expression sharper than I’d ever seen it.

“You,” she said, her voice low but laced with steel, “have some serious explaining to do.”

I swallowed hard, my throat dry as I tried to find the words, but Clara didn’t wait for me to respond.

“I covered for you, not once, but twice this morning,” she snapped, her voice rising slightly. “I lied to the guards for you. I lied to the headmistress for you. Do you have any idea what could’ve happened to me if either of them had caught on? What could still happen if she finds out I’m hiding something from her?”

I opened my mouth to speak, but nothing came out. My hands twisted nervously in the fabric of my dress, my mind racing as I tried to think of what to say. The weight of her glare was suffocating, and the lump in my throat only grew tighter.

“What the hell was that, Lila?” Clara demanded, her voice sharper now. “The crack in the floor, the guards, the headmistress’s suspicion—do you know how close we were to being caught? And then at lunch, you—” She stopped herself, letting out a sharp breath as she ran a hand through her hair. “I deserve answers.”

Her words hit me like a blow, the guilt and shame washing over me in waves. She was right—I owed her answers. But the truth... how could I tell her the truth? How could I explain what even I didn’t fully understand? My silence stretched on, and Clara’s frustration deepened, her foot tapping impatiently against the floor.

“Who are you, Lila?” she asked finally, her voice quieter but no less intense. “You’re not just some servant girl. I’ve known that since the moment you showed up here. So, tell me. What’s going on?”

Her words hung in the air, heavy and unyielding. I bit my lip hard, my heart pounding in my chest as I struggled to find the courage to speak. The room felt smaller now, the walls pressing in on me, and I knew there was no escaping this moment. Clara wasn’t going to let this go—and maybe, deep down, I didn’t want her to. But still, the words wouldn’t come, the truth locked inside me like a secret too dangerous to share.

The silence stretched between us, thick and suffocating, Clara’s sharp gaze boring into me as she waited for an answer. My hands twisted nervously in the folds of my dress, my breath shallow as my mind raced. Every instinct screamed at me to lie, to fabricate some story that would deflect her questions. But I knew Clara too well by now—she wouldn’t accept anything less than the truth.

Or at least a portion of it.

I swallowed hard, the lump in my throat tightening as I forced myself to speak. “I... I haven’t been honest with you,” I began, my voice barely above a whisper. Clara’s eyes narrowed, her arms still crossed tightly over her chest as she waited for me to continue.

“I’m not just a servant,” I admitted, my cheeks flushing as the words spilled out. “I—” I hesitated, my voice catching. Saying it felt impossible, but there was no turning back now. “I’m the princess. Princess Liliana of the kingdom of the Four Winds.”

The room fell deathly silent. Clara’s eyes widened slightly, her lips parting as though she was about to say something, but no words came. For a long, agonizing moment, she simply stared at me, her expression unreadable. The tension in the air was so thick I could barely breathe, and I braced myself for the worst.

I thought she was going to slap me.

Instead, Clara straightened, her hands dropping to her sides as she took a step back. To my utter surprise, she bent her knees and lowered herself into a deep, deliberate curtsy, her head bowed low. When she rose, her eyes met mine again, and for the first time, I saw something other than frustration or suspicion in her gaze. There was respect there—something almost reverent.

“Your Grace,” she said softly, her voice steady and calm, “I thought I recognized you.”

The title hit me like a blow, and for a moment, I didn’t know how to respond. My heart raced, my cheeks burned, and I felt smaller than ever under the weight of her words. “You don’t have to—” I started, but Clara raised a hand, cutting me off.

“You’re the princess,” she said firmly. “That’s not something I take lightly, Lila. Or... Your Grace.”

Hearing the title from her lips sent a strange mix of emotions coursing through me—relief, fear, and an overwhelming sense of vulnerability. She knew now. Clara knew. The secret I had worked so hard to keep was out, at least partially, and there was no going back.

“But,” Clara continued, her voice dropping lower, her eyes narrowing slightly, “that doesn’t explain everything. Like why you’re here, disguised as a servant. Or why...” Her gaze flicked down briefly, the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. “Well, you know.”

I flushed even hotter, my hands flying to smooth my dress as though that could somehow conceal the humiliating truth beneath it. “That’s not important,” I stammered, my voice trembling. “What matters is that I’m trying to survive. Just like you.”

Clara tilted her head, studying me for a long moment before nodding slowly. “Fair enough,” she said, her tone cautious. “But, Your Grace, if we’re going to survive this—and if you’re serious about getting your kingdom back—you need to trust me. Fully.”

Her words hung in the air, heavy with implication, and I nodded faintly, though I couldn’t quite meet her gaze. Trusting Clara with everything felt impossible right now, but she had already proven herself loyal in ways I hadn’t expected. For now, I would have to hope that was enough.

Clara let out a breath, her hands resting on her hips as she gave me a once-over, her sharp eyes softening slightly. “I had a feeling,” she admitted, her voice quiet but firm. “From the moment I saw you, honestly. The stories people tell about you... they matched you too well. The red hair, the delicate features—it all fit. But I wasn’t certain, not until now. I’ve never seen you before—not in person. Then, when you channeled, well, that was enough for me to realize the truth, but I waited until you came out and told me yourself.”

My cheeks burned hotter, and I averted my gaze, staring down at the rough floor beneath my feet. The idea that she had suspected all along made my stomach twist with both embarrassment and a strange sense of relief. She hadn’t been entirely blindsided, at least.

Clara stepped closer, her voice softening further. “You’ve done a decent job blending in, all things considered,” she said. “But it’s been obvious you’re not used to... this life. The way you carry yourself, the way you speak—it’s different.”

I opened my mouth to respond, but the words caught in my throat as Clara gestured to the bed. “Lay down,” she said, her tone brisk again as if she’d given this order a hundred times before.

I froze, my cheeks blazing as I realized what she meant. “I—I can manage,” I stammered, taking a small step back.

Clara raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms. “You’ve been sitting in that all morning, Your Grace,” she said pointedly, her voice both firm and matter-of-fact. “I don’t know how you’ve lasted this long, but you’re not going to last much longer. Now, lay down.”

Her words left no room for argument, and though every part of me screamed against it, I obeyed. My legs felt like lead as I stepped toward the bed, my hands trembling as I lowered myself onto the mattress. The crinkling sound beneath me was deafening, and I squeezed my eyes shut, willing myself not to cry from the sheer humiliation of it all.

Clara moved with practiced efficiency, pulling out a fresh diaper and changing supplies from the wardrobe before kneeling beside me. Her movements were brisk but not unkind as she lifted my dress and worked quickly, her hands steady and impersonal.

“This isn’t the first time I’ve had to help someone like this,” Clara said after a moment, her voice calm as she worked. “But I’ll admit, I wasn’t expecting it to be the princess.” She glanced at me briefly, her lips twitching with a faint smile. “Not that it matters. Everyone needs help sometimes, even royalty.”

I bit my lip, my cheeks burning as I stared up at the ceiling, too mortified to respond. The relief, though—despite the embarrassment—was undeniable. As Clara removed the mess and cleaned me with a damp cloth, the discomfort that had clung to me all morning slowly faded, replaced by a strange, quiet sense of gratitude.

“There,” Clara said finally, taping the fresh diaper snugly into place and smoothing down my dress. “Good as new.” She stood, brushing her hands off and giving me a faint smirk. “Not so bad, was it?”

I sat up slowly, my face still hot as I smoothed my skirt over my legs. “Thank you, and stop calling me your grace, please, I don’t want my cover blown,” I murmured, my voice barely above a whisper.

Clara waved a hand dismissively. “Don’t mention it,” she said, her tone lighter now. “But from now on, Your Grace, err, Lila, I’d appreciate it if you’d give me a little warning before pulling any stunts like this morning. If we’re going to survive, we have to work together.”

I nodded, the lump in my throat making it hard to speak. Clara’s sharp, pragmatic demeanor was both grounding and comforting, and for the first time since this ordeal began, I felt like I might not have to face it alone.

Clara’s words hung in the air, heavy and unyielding. I sat on the edge of the bed, my cheeks still burning from the mortifying experience of being changed like a baby, and yet... she was right. Every part of me resisted admitting it, but if I was going to survive this nightmare—and somehow, someday, reclaim my kingdom—I couldn’t do it alone. I had to rely on Clara, as humbling as that was.

She stood by the door, her arms crossed and her pale blue eyes fixed on me. “If you’re serious about this,” she said firmly, “then it starts now. No more holding back, no more pretending you can handle this on your own. Do you want your kingdom back? Then, follow my lead. Treat me like a teacher because that’s exactly what you need.”

I swallowed hard, the lump in my throat tightening as I nodded faintly. The very idea of it made my stomach twist—the thought of taking guidance from someone so far below my station, of relying on her to navigate a world I had never belonged to. But she was right. I didn’t know how to survive as a servant, let alone as someone hiding a secret as dangerous as mine. Clara knew this life, and whether I liked it or not, I needed her.

The fresh diaper beneath my dress crinkled softly as I stood, the sound a humiliating reminder of just how far I had fallen. I smoothed my skirt over it as though that could make the bulk less noticeable and glanced at Clara, her sharp expression unwavering.

“I’ll... I’ll follow your lead,” I said quietly, the words tasting bitter in my mouth. “You’re right. I need your help.”

Clara’s lips twitched with the faintest hint of a smile, but her eyes remained steady. “Good,” she said simply. “Then let’s get to work. You can prove your commitment by keeping up with me this afternoon. If you’re serious about regaining your kingdom, you start by mastering the basics. That means doing the work and doing it right.”

I nodded again, the weight of her words sinking into me like a stone. My chest tightened with a mix of humiliation and resolve as she opened the door, gesturing for me to follow. The moment I stepped into the corridor, the faint crinkle of my diaper seemed to echo louder than before, and I couldn’t help but flush at the thought of anyone overhearing it.

Clara didn’t look back as she led the way, her steps brisk and confident. I trailed behind her, my head low, the mortifying realization settling deeper into my chest. This was my reality now. Not a princess surrounded by luxury and grace, but a servant in a borrowed dress, following orders, scrubbing floors—and relying on Clara for everything, even something as humiliating as changing my diaper when needed.

The hallways seemed longer and darker as the enormity of what lay ahead weighed down on me. But despite the crushing shame, there was a flicker of determination in my heart. I would endure this. I had to. For my kingdom, for Dorian, for the faint hope that one day, I could reclaim what had been stolen from me.

Clara glanced back briefly as we approached the next wing of the castle, her sharp eyes meeting mine. “Keep up, Your Grace,” she said, her tone firm but not unkind. “And remember—this is just the beginning.”

The soft crinkle of my diaper echoed with every step as I followed her into the next stretch of work, the humbling weight of her words settling firmly in my mind. This was my first lesson, and though the path ahead was long and degrading, I knew there was no other way forward.