The Crimson Crown

The morning light filtered softly through the cracks in the shutters, illuminating the room in faint, muted hues. I stirred beneath the rough blanket, the crinkle of the mattress cover beneath me rousing me further. For a brief, blissful moment, I forgot where I was, lost in the haze of waking. But then the events of the day before came rushing back, and I felt the now-familiar bulk beneath my dress, damp and humiliating, reminding me of the reality I couldn’t escape. I had awakened sometime during the night to soak my diaper before falling back asleep.

Across the room, Clara was shifting uncomfortably, her movements restless and uncharacteristically awkward. I blinked groggily, turning toward her as the faint rustle of her diaper reached my ears. Her back was to me, her hands gripping the edge of her blanket tightly, her shoulders tense.

“Clara?” I asked softly, my voice still thick with sleep.

She stilled at the sound of my voice, her shoulders stiffening further before she let out a shaky breath. “I—I’m fine,” she muttered, though the strain in her voice betrayed her. She shifted again, her movements stiff and uneasy, and I realized what was happening.

“It’s part of the punishment,” she added after a moment, her voice barely above a whisper. “She... she expects us to... use them, doesn’t she?”

The shame in her tone was palpable, and my chest tightened as I sat up, the blanket pooling in my lap. “Yes,” I admitted quietly, my voice soft. “She does.”

Clara let out a faint, bitter laugh, her head bowing slightly. “Figures,” she muttered. “Of course, she’d find a way to make this even worse.”

The silence stretched between us for a moment, heavy and suffocating. I could see the faint tremble in her hands, the tension in her posture, and I knew she was fighting against it, clinging to her pride despite the certainty of what was expected.

“It’s... easier if you don’t fight it,” I said hesitantly, the words feeling foreign on my tongue. I hated that I knew this, hated that I had to advise about something so humiliating, but Clara’s discomfort was impossible to ignore.

She turned slightly, glancing at me over her shoulder with a sharp, skeptical look. “Easier?” she repeated, her voice edged with frustration. “You can’t possibly expect me to just—just let it happen.”

I flinched at her tone but pressed on, keeping my voice calm. “I know it’s awful,” I said quietly. “But fighting it only makes it worse. You’re just drawing it out.”

Clara looked away, her jaw tightening as she shifted again, clearly trying to hold back. “It’s humiliating,” she muttered, her voice thick with shame. “I can’t just... give in like that.”

“I know,” I said softly, my chest aching at the sight of her struggling. “But it’s not about giving in. It’s about surviving. This isn’t forever, Clara. It’s just... for now.”

Her hands clenched into fists, and she let out a shaky breath, her head bowing further. “I don’t know if I can,” she whispered, her voice breaking slightly.

“You can,” I said firmly, surprising even myself with the strength in my tone. I slid off the bed, moving to sit on the edge of hers, though I kept a respectful distance. “I’ll help you. Just... take a deep breath. Try to relax.”

She hesitated, her shoulders tense, but after a long moment, she nodded faintly. I could see the flush rising in her cheeks, her embarrassment so raw and unguarded that it made my heart ache. She closed her eyes tightly, her breaths coming in short, uneven gasps.

“Slowly,” I murmured, keeping my voice soft and steady. “Just let go. It’s okay.”

Clara’s hands trembled in her lap, her entire body stiff as she fought against herself. But gradually, I saw her start to relax, her breaths evening out as she let herself lean into the inevitable. Her face burned crimson, her jaw clenched tightly, and I looked away, giving her what little privacy I could at the moment.

The faint rustle beneath her dress was barely audible, but I knew it had happened when she let out a soft, shaky sob, her head bowing further. My chest ached as I reached out, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder.

“It’s okay,” I said softly, my voice barely above a whisper. “You did it.”

She nodded faintly, her face still hidden as she took a deep, shuddering breath. The tension in the room lingered, but I stayed where I was, my hand a steadying presence on her shoulder as we sat in the quiet, letting the moment pass. For now, that was enough.

As the quiet tension lingered in the room, I felt the uncomfortable fullness building in my bladder. The faint ache was a cruel reminder of my predicament, but I shoved it to the back of my mind, focusing instead on Clara, who sat with her head bowed, her hands twisting nervously in her lap.

“Come on,” I said softly, standing and motioning toward her bed. “Let’s get you changed.”

Clara’s head snapped up, her eyes wide with a mix of surprise and anger. “What? Now?” she asked, her voice sharp, though the flush on her cheeks betrayed her embarrassment.

“Yes, now,” I said firmly, though my voice remained gentle. “We can’t stay like this all day. You’ll get used to it eventually, but if we don’t keep clean, Mistress will find a reason to punish us again.”

Clara let out a frustrated sigh, her shoulders slumping slightly as she nodded. “Fine,” she muttered, though her voice was laced with reluctance. “Let’s just... get it over with.”

I fetched a fresh diaper from the drawer she’d reluctantly filled the night before, the crinkle of the material loud in the stillness of the room. Clara lay back on her bed, her movements stiff and awkward, and I could see the tension in her body as she adjusted herself on the mattress.

Her cheeks were bright red as I lifted the hem of her dress, exposing the swollen padding beneath. “This is so humiliating,” she muttered, her voice barely audible. “I still can’t believe this is happening.”

I didn’t respond, too focused on the task at hand. Gently, I untaped the diaper, the soft sound of the adhesive pulling away making Clara flinch. She avoided my gaze; her fists clenched tightly at her sides as I worked quickly, wiping her clean and setting the used diaper aside before slipping the fresh one beneath her.

“You’ll feel better once it’s done,” I said softly, my voice meant to reassure.

Clara let out a bitter laugh. “Better?” she asked, her tone dry. “Maybe less gross, but it’s still...” She trailed off, her flush deepening as she avoided my gaze.

I secured the tapes of the fresh diaper, smoothing the fabric of her dress back into place before stepping back. Clara sat up slowly, her hands fidgeting with the hem of her skirt as she shifted uncomfortably, her cheeks still burning.

“It’s weird,” she muttered after a moment, her voice hesitant. “I mean, I hate this—hate everything about it—but...” She paused, glancing at me briefly before looking away. “It doesn’t feel that bad, I guess. The diaper, I mean. It’s... dry, at least. Surprisingly.”

I raised an eyebrow, surprised by her admission, but I chose not to press her further. “That’s the point,” I said simply, my voice soft. “It’s supposed to feel like that.”

Clara let out a faint huff, her expression tight. “I still hate it,” she said firmly, though the tension in her shoulders seemed to ease slightly. “But I guess... it could be worse.”

Her words made my predicament all the more pressing. The ache in my bladder was growing harder to ignore, and I shifted uncomfortably, the padding beneath my dress pressing against me with every movement.

“You’re next, aren’t you?” Clara asked suddenly, her sharp gaze flicking to mine. Her tone was neutral, but there was a faint smirk tugging at the corners of her lips. “Go on, then.”

I flushed deeply, my hands twisting in the fabric of my dress as I avoided her gaze. “I... I can wait,” I muttered, though even as I said it, I knew it wasn’t true.

Clara snorted softly, crossing her arms as she leaned back against the wall. “Sure you can,” she said dryly, her smirk growing. “You gave me a whole lecture about not fighting it, remember? Your turn to take your advice, Princess.”

Her teasing tone stung, but I knew she was right. Swallowing my pride, I closed my eyes, forcing myself to relax as I leaned into the inevitable. The warmth spread through the padding, the faint squish against my skin making my cheeks burn hotter than ever. I couldn’t bring myself to look at Clara; I couldn’t bear the thought of seeing the expression on her face as she sat there, her presence a constant reminder of my humiliation.

The room was stiflingly quiet, save for the faint rustle of fabric as Clara adjusted her skirt. I squeezed my eyes shut, wishing desperately for the moment to pass, for the weight of my embarrassment to lift. But it didn’t—not when I felt the final trickle, not when the warmth settled, and not when Clara’s voice cut through the silence.

“Are you done?” she asked, her tone neutral but edged with something I couldn’t quite place.

I nodded weakly, still unable to meet her gaze. My voice caught in my throat, and I swallowed hard, my nod the only confirmation I could muster. The faintest hint of a sigh escaped Clara, and I heard her stand, the soft crinkle of her diaper barely audible over the pounding of my heart.

“Alright,” she said, her voice more brisk now as she moved toward me. “Your turn.”

I stiffened as she reached for the fresh diaper I had set aside earlier, her movements efficient but not unkind. She knelt beside my bed, her hands pausing briefly as she looked at me expectantly.

“Lay down,” she said simply, her tone leaving no room for argument.

I hesitated, the lump in my throat tightening as I forced myself to obey. The crinkle beneath me was louder than ever as I lay back, my cheeks blazing with heat as Clara adjusted my skirt, exposing the damp, swollen diaper.

Clara’s hands were steady as she worked, her expression unreadable as she untaped the diaper and pulled it away. The cool air against my skin sent a shiver through me, and I bit my lip hard, willing myself to stay still as she cleaned me up with practiced efficiency.

The silence was unbearable, each rustle of the diaper, each movement magnifying the humiliation that filled me. I couldn’t help but feel this was my penance, my retribution for forcing Clara to endure the same just moments ago.

When she finally secured the tapes of the fresh diaper and adjusted my dress back into place, I sat up slowly, my movements stiff and awkward. I couldn’t bring myself to look at Clara, my shame still too raw, but her voice broke the silence once more, softer now.

“There,” she said, brushing her hands off. “We’re even.”

Her words carried no malice, but they still stung, a reminder of the vulnerability we now shared. I nodded faintly, my voice still caught somewhere in my throat as I stood, the crinkle beneath my dress an ever-present reminder of my place.

With fresh diapers snug beneath our dresses, Clara and I moved to inspect each other’s outfits, ensuring everything was immaculate. Clara adjusted the hem of my skirt, her sharp eyes scanning for any creases or imperfections, while I smoothed out her apron, making sure every fold fell perfectly. Our tummies rumbled faintly as we worked, the scent of breakfast faintly wafting through the corridor.

“Good enough,” Clara muttered, stepping back and giving me a brisk nod. “Let’s get moving before we’re late.”

I nodded, my cheeks still warm from the earlier embarrassment as we stepped out into the hallway. The soft crinkle of our diapers accompanied each step, a sound I was certain was loud, though no one else seemed to notice. The faint echoes of other servants’ movements filled the air, but we kept our heads low, walking with purpose toward the dining hall.

As we turned a corner, my heart sank at the sight of Mistress standing ahead of us, her posture rigid and commanding as ever. Clara stiffened beside me, her steps faltering slightly, but she quickly recovered, her gaze dropping obediently to the floor. I followed suit, my chest tightening as we approached.

“Well,” Mistress drawled, her tone laced with condescension as her sharp eyes scanned us. “What have we here? Two little servants, freshly prepared for the day.”

We stopped before her, bowing our heads in unison as she stepped closer, her heels clicking softly against the stone floor. Her gaze was piercing, her lips curling into a faint smirk as she circled us slowly, her presence suffocating.

“Hands,” she commanded sharply, her voice leaving no room for hesitation.

Clara and I lifted our arms obediently, our skirts rustling faintly as Mistress leaned in, her cold fingers brushing against the fabric. She inspected every detail, smoothing the hems and adjusting the folds with brisk efficiency. When her hands moved lower, pressing lightly against the backs of our skirts, my breath caught in my throat.

She smirked, the faintest sound of the padding beneath our dresses betraying us as she checked. “Clean and dry,” she said with mock approval, her tone dripping with amusement. “Good. You’re learning.”

My cheeks burned as I kept my gaze fixed firmly on the floor, the humiliation coursing through me like fire. Clara didn’t move, her expression unreadable, though I could feel the tension radiating off her.

Mistress stepped back, brushing her hands off as though dismissing us. “Continue to the dining hall,” she said curtly, her tone sharp. “And remember, I will inspect you again before the day is through. Don’t give me a reason to be disappointed.”

“Yes, Mistress,” we murmured in unison, our voices subdued.

She waved a dismissive hand, and we hurried past her, the soft crinkle of our movements seeming louder in the tense silence. My heart pounded as we rounded the next corner, the dining hall now in sight. Clara let out a faint sigh, her shoulders relaxing just slightly.

“She’s going to keep doing this,” she muttered under her breath, her tone laced with frustration.

“I know,” I whispered, my voice trembling faintly. “But at least she didn’t find anything wrong.”

Clara glanced at me briefly, her expression softening just enough to show the faintest flicker of reassurance. “Come on,” she said, motioning toward the dining hall. “Let’s eat before we have to deal with her again.”

I nodded, forcing myself to take a deep breath as we entered the dining hall, the promise of food a small comfort in the otherwise oppressive morning. For now, we had a moment’s reprieve, and I clung to it, knowing it wouldn’t last.

The tension in the dining hall had only grown as Clara, and I made our way through the line, each whispered word and hushed conversation brushing against me like a shadowy hand, tugging at my unease. I forced myself to focus on the simple act of scooping the bland porridge into my bowl, each motion deliberate and careful, but my mind buzzed with questions I couldn’t yet answer.

Clara was unusually quiet, her expression tight as we took our usual seats at a small table near the corner. The usual hum of breakfast felt sharper, more pressing, the air thick with something I couldn’t place. I wanted to ask Clara what she thought, to see if she felt the same unease, but the set line of her jaw warned me to keep my thoughts to myself.

We ate in silence, each spoonful of the meager meal heavy in my stomach. My ears strained to catch pieces of conversation floating through the room, but nothing came into focus. My frustration mounted with each passing moment, the tension in my chest growing unbearable.

Finally, Clara set her spoon down with a quiet clink, her eyes scanning the room before settling on a servant sitting nearby. The girl looked pale, her hands twisting nervously in her lap as she whispered to the girl beside her.

Clara leaned closer, her voice low and sharp. “You,” she said, her tone firm but not unkind. The girl startled, her wide eyes snapping to Clara. “What’s going on? Why is everyone acting like this?”

The girl hesitated, her gaze darting between Clara and me. She glanced around the room, her hands still fidgeting as she leaned in slightly. “You haven’t heard?” she whispered, her voice trembling.

Clara’s jaw tightened. “Heard what?”

The girl swallowed hard, her voice dropping even further. “The King and Queen,” she said, her words quick and clipped. “They’re to be executed. Today.”

The air left my lungs in a rush, the room tilting around me as her words hit me like a physical blow. The spoon in my hand fell from my grasp, clattering against the table, but I barely heard it over the pounding in my ears. My chest tightened painfully, and I felt the color drain from my face, my hands trembling as I gripped the edge of the table.

“No,” I whispered, my voice barely audible. “No, they can’t.”

“They can,” the girl replied, her eyes wide and fearful. “The announcement came this morning. It’s to happen in the courtyard after midday. Everyone is expected to watch.”

Her words were like a knife twisting in my chest, each syllable cutting deeper. I shook my head faintly, my mind reeling, but no matter how much I wanted to deny it, the weight of her statement settled over me like a crushing force.

Clara’s hand shot out, gripping my arm tightly as though to steady me, but her face was pale, her expression grim. “Keep it together,” she said sharply, her voice low. “Lila, breathe.”

I couldn’t. My breaths came in short, shallow gasps, the room spinning around me as the enormity of it all crashed down. The King and Queen—my family—were to be executed. Their lives were to end, and their deaths were to serve as a statement, a show of power, a mockery of everything we had fought to protect.

My vision blurred, my hands trembling violently as I clenched them into fists, my nails biting into my palms. The faint hum of the dining hall seemed to fade away, replaced by the deafening roar of my thoughts.

“They’re going to kill them,” I whispered, my voice cracking as I spoke the words aloud. “They’re going to—” My throat tightened, cutting me off, and I squeezed my eyes shut, the tears burning hot against my cheeks.

Clara’s grip on my arm tightened, her voice cutting through the haze. “Lila, stop,” she hissed, her tone sharp. “Not here. Not now.”

But I couldn’t stop. My world was crumbling, each piece falling away until there was nothing left but the unbearable weight of grief and rage. The King and Queen. My parents by marriage. My family. They were going to die.

And there was nothing I could do to stop it.