The Crimson Crown

The hours dragged on, the weight of exhaustion pressing heavily on my shoulders as Clara and I scrubbed the last stretch of the East Wing. The sun had long since dipped below the horizon, and the dim lanterns cast flickering shadows along the stone walls. My knees ached, my arms trembled, and every step sent a faint squish through the damp padding beneath my dress—a humiliating reminder of the day’s trials.

Finally, Clara straightened, brushing her damp hands on her skirt with a sigh. “That’s it,” she said, her voice edged with weariness. “We’re done.”

I nodded faintly, too tired to respond despite channeling Summer. We gathered our buckets and sponges, the faint slosh of water and the soft scrape of tools breaking the silence as we made our way back to the cleaning closet. The air was cool and still, the corridors eerily quiet save for the faint hum of activity in the distance.

As we returned the supplies to their places, Clara cast me a glance. “Dinner,” she said simply, motioning for me to follow. My stomach grumbled faintly at the thought, but my steps were sluggish as I trailed behind her, the humiliation of the day mingling with my exhaustion.

We passed through the main corridor on our way to the dining hall, and I felt my chest tighten as the headmistress’s room came into view. She stood in the doorway, her severe posture framed by the flickering light of a nearby lantern. Her sharp eyes landed on us immediately, narrowing as we approached.

“Mistress,” Clara said smoothly, her tone respectful as she bowed her head slightly. I quickly followed suit, lowering my gaze as my heart pounded in my chest.

The headmistress stepped forward, her arms crossed tightly over her chest as she inspected us both. Her eyes swept over Clara first, lingering on the hem of her skirt, noticing the wet spots from where Clara had dried her hands and the faint crease in her apron. Then, her gaze shifted to me, her lips pressing into a thin line as she scanned my outfit, her frown deepening.

“Unacceptable,” she said curtly, her tone like a blade. “Both of you.”

My breath hitched, and I could feel Clara stiffen beside me. The headmistress’s sharp gaze flicked between us, her expression cold and unyielding.

“Report to my office after dinner,” she continued her voice firm. “Clearly, you both require a personal lesson in tidiness. Perhaps then you’ll learn to present yourselves properly.”

“Yes, Mistress,” Clara replied quickly, her tone steady despite the tension in the air.

I nodded mutely, my cheeks burning as the weight of her words settled over me. The headmistress lingered for a moment longer, her piercing gaze making my skin crawl, before turning sharply on her heel and disappearing back into her room.

As we continued toward the dining hall, Clara let out a quiet sigh, her voice low as she muttered, “This isn’t good.”

I swallowed hard, my stomach twisting as dread mingled with my hunger. The headmistress’s reprimand echoed in my mind, each word like a drumbeat of impending doom. A “personal lesson” could mean anything, but I had no doubt it would be humiliating—and, given the bulk beneath my dress, potentially disastrous.

Still, I forced myself to keep walking, the faint crinkle of my diaper beneath my skirt a constant, humiliating reminder of what was at stake. For now, I could only hope to endure whatever came next.

The dining hall was filled with the low hum of conversation and the clatter of plates and utensils, but the noise seemed distant, muffled, as though it belonged to another world. My heart pounded heavily in my chest, the headmistress’s cold voice replaying in my mind like a cruel echo. Every step toward the dining hall felt heavier, weighed down by the dread gripping my heart.

Clara led the way, her expression unreadable as we joined the line of servants waiting for their meals. I followed her motions robotically, taking a plain wooden plate and spoon from the stack and stepping forward as the kitchen workers ladled a thin stew onto it. The smell of the food barely registered—it was neither tasty nor unpleasant, just bland and uninspired, much like the meal itself.

By the time we reached our usual table and sat down, the weight of the day, of what was to come, pressed down on me like a stone. The headmistress’s warning was impossible to ignore, the phrase ‘personal lesson’ circling in my thoughts like a hawk ready to strike. I could hardly focus on Clara’s murmurs or the faint clatter of utensils around me.

As I settled onto the bench, the soggy padding beneath my dress squished slightly, a fresh wave of humiliation washing over me. My stomach churned with the mingling discomfort and dread, and I pushed the spoon around in the stew, the watery broth rippling faintly with each motion.

It wasn’t until the familiar, unwelcome ache in my bladder grew sharp that I realized just how tense I was. My hands trembled faintly as I gripped the spoon, trying to will the sensation away, but my body had other plans. The weight of the day—the exhaustion, the shame, the sheer uncertainty of what awaited me—proved too much.

I felt the warmth spread through the soaked padding, the faint trickle completely out of my control as my body gave in once more. The diaper swelled slightly beneath me, pressing uncomfortably against my skin, but I couldn’t bring myself to move or react. My cheeks burned hot with humiliation, my fingers tightening around the spoon as though holding onto it would keep me grounded.

Clara glanced at me briefly, her sharp eyes catching the flush in my cheeks, but she didn’t say anything. Instead, she focused on her meal, her calm demeanor only serving to emphasize the storm of emotions raging within me.

I forced myself to take a bite, the bland stew offering no comfort as it slid down my throat. Every movement felt stiff and mechanical, the growing bulk beneath my dress a constant, humiliating reminder of just how far I had fallen. The dread in my chest grew heavier with each passing moment, the headmistress’s warning looming over me like a shadow I couldn’t escape.

As the meal drew to a close, I couldn’t help but push the remnants of my stew around the bowl; my appetite completely vanished. The dread that had been gnawing at my chest all through dinner had only grown heavier, and the soft, soggy bulk beneath me served as a humiliating reminder of just how vulnerable I was.

Clara stood, brushing off her skirt as she motioned for me to follow. I hesitated, the words catching in my throat before I managed to force them out. “Clara,” I said softly, my voice barely audible over the hum of the dining hall. “What... what do you think she’s going to do?”

Clara glanced at me, her expression carefully neutral, but the tension in her eyes gave her away. She sighed, motioning for me to stand as well. “It depends,” she said quietly, her voice low enough that no one else could hear. “The headmistress doesn’t take kindly to sloppiness. If she’s feeling merciful, she’ll just lecture us.”

“And if she’s not?” I asked, my heart pounding.

Clara didn’t respond immediately, leading us toward the door and into the quieter corridors before finally speaking. Her voice was strained, and she didn’t look at me as she spoke. “If she’s not... she’ll make sure you remember not to fail again.”

My stomach churned at her tone, and I swallowed hard, my voice trembling. “What do you mean?”

Clara stopped abruptly, turning to face me with a look that was equal parts stern and pitying. “I mean, she’ll spank you,” she said flatly, her words blunt. “She’ll bend you over her lap, pull up your dress, and make sure you don’t forget who’s in charge.”

The blood drained from my face, and I could only stare at her in stunned silence. My mind raced, the image of being bent over the headmistress’s lap sending a fresh wave of humiliation crashing over me.

“She’s done it to me before,” Clara admitted, her voice quieter now, her gaze dropping. “Once, when I didn’t scrub the dining hall to her standards. She called me into her office, made me lay over her lap, and... well, she made sure I couldn’t sit comfortably for days.”

Her eyes flicked up to meet mine, her expression unreadable. “It’s bad enough in a normal situation,” she continued, her voice softening. “But for you...”

I felt my breath catch in my throat as realization dawned, my cheeks flushing hotly. Clara didn’t need to say it outright—if the headmistress discovered my diapered state, the humiliation would be unbearable.

“She’ll find out,” Clara said after a moment, her tone grim. “If she gets that far, she’ll notice. And when she does...” She trailed off, her lips pressing into a thin line.

I shook my head, panic rising in my chest. “She can’t,” I whispered, my voice trembling. “She can’t find out.”

Clara sighed, her expression softening just enough to show a flicker of sympathy. “We’ll try to avoid it,” she said firmly. “But you need to be ready, Lila. She doesn’t stop until she’s satisfied, and she’s relentless.”

The lump in my throat grew tighter as I nodded faintly, my hands twisting nervously in the fabric of my dress. The headmistress’s office was growing uncomfortably closer with every step, and the soft crinkle of my diaper beneath my skirt seemed louder than ever, a cruel reminder of the humiliation that awaited me if Clara was right.

The headmistress’s office loomed ahead, the heavy wooden door closed and imposing in the flickering lantern light. Every step closer felt heavier, the knot of dread in my stomach twisting tighter with each passing moment. By the time we reached the door, I could hardly breathe, my hands trembling as they fidgeted nervously with the hem of my dress.

I stopped just short of the threshold, my chest rising and falling with shallow, panicked breaths. My heart pounded like a drum, each beat echoing in my ears as I stared at the door. I couldn’t do this. I couldn’t face her. She was going to find out. She was going to…

“Lila,” Clara’s voice broke through the haze, sharp but not unkind. She stepped in front of me, her hands on my shoulders as her pale blue eyes met mine. “You need to calm down. Breathe.”

I swallowed hard, shaking my head faintly as my chest tightened further. “I can’t,” I whispered, my voice trembling. “She’s going to—she’ll—”

“She’s not going to break you,” Clara interrupted firmly, her grip on my shoulders steadying me. “You’ll make it through this. You’re stronger than you think.”

Her words made my breath hitch, but the panic still clawed at my chest. “But she’ll find out,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “About... about my...”

Clara’s gaze softened, but her tone remained steady. “She might,” she admitted, her voice low. “But you’ve handled worse, haven’t you? You’re still here, Lila. You’ve survived everything they’ve thrown at you so far, and you’ll survive this, too.”

The lump in my throat tightened as I nodded faintly, her words cutting through the panic just enough to let me breathe again. Clara’s hands remained on my shoulders, her steady presence grounding me as she leaned in slightly, her voice dropping to a near whisper.

“For now,” she said, her tone softer, “you’re not a princess. You’re not royalty. You’re just a little servant girl who needs to learn her place. That’s what she wants to see—someone submissive, obedient. If you give her that, she’ll have no reason to dig deeper.”

The heat in my cheeks grew as her words settled over me, the humiliation of it all twisting in my chest. But I knew she was right. The best way to protect myself—to keep my secret safe—was to play the role she expected for now.

“I can’t let her win,” I murmured, more to myself than to Clara. The thought of submitting fully, of letting myself be reduced to this, burned like fire in my chest.

“She’s not winning,” Clara said firmly, her gaze unwavering. “You’re playing the game. And if you play it well enough, you’ll come out stronger on the other side. Remember who you are, Lila. You’re a princess. You’ve got this.”

I nodded again, this time more certain, though my hands still trembled faintly. Clara gave my shoulders a reassuring squeeze before stepping back, her expression returning to its usual sharpness as she reached for the door.

“Head down,” she reminded me quietly. “Eyes on the floor. Follow my lead.”

I took a deep breath, forcing myself to stand straight even as the soft crinkle beneath my dress reminded me of the vulnerability I carried with every step. I was stronger than this, stronger than her. And if I had to act like a submissive servant girl to prove it, so be it.

Clara pushed the door open, and the heavy grating seemed to echo in my chest as we stepped into the headmistress’s office together.

The heavy door creaked shut behind us, the sound reverberating through the small, dimly lit office. My heart was racing so fast it felt like it might leap out of my chest, my pulse thudding in my ears so loudly that it drowned out the faint rustle of my diaper and the shuffle of our feet.

“Stand there,” the headmistress commanded sharply, her voice as cold and unyielding as the stone walls surrounding us. She gestured to a spot just in front of her desk, and Clara and I moved obediently, our heads bowed.

I couldn’t help but glance at the imposing woman before me. Mistress stood tall, her dark eyes piercing, her severe dress immaculate and unyielding. She radiated authority, and just the sight of her was enough to make my chest tighten further.

The panic clawed at me, threatening to pull me under. My breaths were shallow, my legs trembling as the weight of her presence pressed down on me like a crashing wave. I could feel the heat rising in my cheeks, the soggy padding beneath my dress a humiliating reminder of how utterly powerless I felt.

But then Clara’s voice echoed in my mind: “Breathe. You’re stronger than this.”

I clenched my fists at my sides, forcing my trembling hands to still as I took a slow, steady breath. The tightness in my chest began to ease just slightly, and I focused on the rhythm of my breathing, letting it ground me.

In. Out. In. Out.

My heart was still racing, but the edges of my panic dulled just enough for me to stand taller, straighter. I could make it through this. I had survived worse. The headmistress’s cold gaze didn’t break me before, and it wouldn’t break me now.

Mistress circled us slowly, her sharp eyes scrutinizing every inch of our appearances. My pulse quickened as she drew closer, her presence suffocating, but I kept my head low, my gaze fixed firmly on the floor. Clara’s advice rang in my mind like a lifeline: Head down. Obedient. Play the game.

I could feel Mistress’s gaze lingering on me longer than Clara's, and my breath caught as she stopped directly in front of me. Her shoes clicked softly against the stone as she shifted her weight, her towering presence making me feel impossibly small.

“You,” she said, her voice like a whip, cold and cutting. “You’ve been sloppy.”

My stomach twisted, but I forced myself to remain still, my breaths steady as I nodded faintly. “Yes, Mistress,” I murmured, my voice trembling just enough to sound appropriately deferential.

“Eyes down,” she snapped, though I hadn’t dared to lift them. Her fingers brushed the hem of my dress, smoothing the fabric as though searching for imperfections. “Do you even know how to present yourself properly, girl?”

My throat tightened, the lump in it threatening to choke me. “No, Mistress,” I whispered, my voice so soft I barely heard it myself.

Her sharp exhale sent a shiver down my spine. “Pathetic,” she muttered, her tone dripping with disdain. “I’ll ensure you learn by the time we’re done here.”

The knot in my stomach twisted tighter, but I kept my breathing steady, focusing on Clara’s presence beside me. I would survive this. I would make it through. I wasn’t just a servant girl—I was Liliana, a princess. And though the headmistress might humiliate me, she would never break me.

Mistress moved to her chair, the sound of its legs scraping faintly against the stone floor as she positioned it deliberately at the center of the room. Her sharp gaze flicked between us as she sat, smoothing her skirts with an air of authority that made my stomach twist.

“You’ve both failed my standards,” she said coldly, her tone sharp and unyielding. “And failure requires correction.”

Her words hung heavily in the air, and I swallowed hard, my throat tight as I kept my gaze fixed on the floor. My heart pounded in my chest, every nerve in my body screaming to run, to escape, but my legs remained rooted to the spot.

Mistress’s eyes lingered on me, her lips curling faintly into a smirk. “Since you’re new,” she said, her voice dripping with mock sweetness, “you may have the privilege of going second.”

The blood drained from my face, and I clenched my trembling hands tightly at my sides. My heart raced as I cast a hesitant glance at Clara, whose expression remained stoic, though I could see the faint tension in her jaw. Without a word, she stepped forward, her movements steady and deliberate as she obeyed Mistress’s unspoken command.

Mistress’s sharp gaze followed Clara as she approached, and with a swift motion, she gestured for Clara to bend. Clara hesitated only briefly before complying, draping herself over Mistress’s lap with practiced ease. Her skirt was hiked up in one swift motion, exposing her plain undergarments, and I heard her sharp intake of breath as the fabric settled around her waist.

“Discipline is the foundation of service,” Mistress said, her voice firm but calm as she rested one hand on Clara’s back, holding her in place. Her other hand hovered for a moment as though savoring the weight of her authority. “And I will ensure it is remembered.”

I couldn’t tear my eyes away. My breath caught as the first smack echoed through the room, sharp and loud against Clara’s exposed backside. She flinched slightly but made no sound, her stoic demeanor unbroken despite the sting of each strike.

Mistress delivered each swat with precision, her movements steady and deliberate as she continued her reprimand. “A servant who cannot meet my standards,” she said, punctuating each word with another strike, “is no servant at all.”

I could feel the blood rushing to my cheeks, my face burning as I stood frozen, watching the scene before me. The humiliation in the room was palpable and suffocating, and I knew that I would be next. My stomach churned with a mix of dread and shame, the soft crinkle beneath my dress a cruel reminder of how much more humiliating this would be for me.

Clara remained silent, though I could see the faint tension in her shoulders, the slight clench of her fists as Mistress continued. My heart ached for her, but I couldn’t bring myself to move, couldn’t even look away as the reality of my impending punishment settled over me like a heavy stone.

When Mistress finally stopped, she allowed Clara to stand, her movements stiff but composed as she adjusted her skirt and stepped back beside me. Mistress’s eyes shifted to me then, her lips curling faintly into a smile that made my stomach twist.

“Your turn,” she said simply, her tone both commanding and expectant.

My legs felt like lead as I stepped forward, my heart pounding so loudly I could barely hear the sound of my footsteps. Every part of me wanted to scream, to run, but I forced myself to move, the weight of Clara’s words—You’re stronger than this—echoing in my mind as I prepared to face the inevitable.