The Crimson Crown

With our buckets safely returned, Clara and I exchanged a silent glance, the weight of what came next pressing down on us like a stone. My legs felt heavy as we made our way to Mistress’s room, each step echoing faintly in the quiet corridor. Clara walked beside me, her posture stiff, her lips pressed into a thin line. She didn’t say a word, but the tension radiating off her was palpable.

When we reached Mistress’s door, I hesitated for a moment, my breath catching in my throat. Clara gave me a pointed look, her hand reaching out to knock sharply on the heavy wood. “Better to get it over with,” she muttered under her breath, her voice barely audible.

The door creaked open, and Mistress stood there, her sharp eyes scanning us both with a look of cool satisfaction. “Come in, girls,” she said smoothly, stepping aside to let us enter.

We filed in silently, standing side by side as she closed the door behind us. The air in the room was heavy and oppressive, and Mistress’s presence only amplified the feeling. She stood before us, her hands clasped behind her back, her gaze sharp and unyielding.

“Report,” she demanded, her tone brisk.

“We completed our section of the East Wing, Mistress,” Clara said quickly, her voice steady despite the tension in her posture.

Mistress raised an eyebrow, her lips twitching into a faint smirk. “I trust you obeyed my instructions?” she asked, her gaze flicking between us.

My cheeks flushed, and I felt Clara stiffen beside me, but neither of us hesitated. “Yes, Mistress,” we said in unison, our voices low but clear.

Mistress’s smirk widened, and she stepped closer, her sharp eyes glinting with cruel amusement. “Let’s see, then,” she said, her tone almost playful as she reached out toward me first.

I stood frozen as her hands moved to the hem of my dress, lifting it without hesitation. The cool air hit the exposed padding of my diaper, and I felt my cheeks burn with humiliation as she gave it a firm squeeze, her fingers pressing against the front before moving to the back.

“Good,” she said, her voice filled with mock praise. “Obedient girls, just as I like them.”

She let my dress fall back into place before turning to Clara, who stood rigidly beside me, her face pale but composed. Mistress repeated the process, lifting Clara’s dress and giving her diaper the same firm inspection. The soft crinkle of the padding seemed deafening in the quiet room, and I could see Clara’s hands clench into fists at her sides, her jaw tightening as she endured the humiliation.

Mistress stepped back, clasping her hands in front of her as she studied us with a look of smug satisfaction. “I must say,” she drawled, her tone dripping with condescension, “I’m quite pleased with you both. Diapers seem to suit you, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Yes, Mistress,” we said in unison, my eye twitching. 

 Mistress chuckled softly, clearly reveling in the power she held over us. “You may go,” she said finally, waving a hand dismissively. “But don’t forget—obedience is rewarded. Defiance... is not.”

“Yes, Mistress,” we murmured, curtsying slightly before turning to leave the room.

As the door closed behind us, I let out a shaky breath, my hands trembling at my sides. Clara didn’t say a word, her expression unreadable as we walked back toward the dining hall. The weight of Mistress’s words lingered heavily in the air, a reminder of the control she held over us. But deep down, a flicker of defiance burned within me. This wasn’t over—not by a long shot.

The dining hall was bustling as Clara and I stepped in, the hum of quiet conversation and the clatter of bowls filling the air. My cheeks still burned with the humiliation of Mistress’s inspection, but the promise of food—however meager—was enough to push me forward. We collected our portions quickly, the dull warmth of the porridge a small comfort against the tension lingering in the room.

As we scanned the tables, my eyes landed on Dorian. He stood awkwardly near the edge of the room, clutching his bowl and shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot. His broad shoulders and stiff posture stood out sharply against the smaller, hunched forms of the other servants, and it was clear he was unsure where to sit.

“There,” I murmured to Clara, nudging her gently. “Let’s grab him before someone starts asking questions.”

Clara nodded, and we made our way over, weaving through the rows of tables until we reached him. Dorian’s eyes flicked to us, relief flashing across his face as we approached.

“Over here,” Clara said, jerking her head toward an empty spot at a nearby table. “Sit with us.”

He nodded, following us to the table and settling into a seat. His movements were stiff, his discomfort palpable as he glanced around the room. The other servants barely spared him a second glance, their attention focused on their meals, but Dorian’s unease lingered.

“Relax,” Clara said under her breath as we sat down, her tone brisk but not unkind. “You’re just another servant girl, remember? Keep your head down and eat.”

Dorian frowned slightly, his hands tightening around his bowl. “This is... harder than I thought,” he muttered, his voice low. “I don’t even know what to say if someone asks me who I am.”

Clara and I exchanged a glance, the unspoken question hanging between us. He was right—his real name would give everything away in an instant. He needed a new name, at least for now, something that would fit the disguise.

“Alright,” Clara said, leaning forward slightly. “We need to call you something else. Something... feminine.”

Dorian’s frown deepened, his discomfort evident. “Feminine?” he echoed, his voice tinged with reluctance.

“You want to blend in, don’t you?” Clara shot back, raising an eyebrow. “Trust me, ‘Dorian’ isn’t going to work.”

I bit back a small smile, suppressing the faint amusement that bubbled up despite the gravity of the situation. “It’s just temporary,” I said softly, placing a reassuring hand on his arm. “Until we figure out our next move.”

He sighed heavily, his shoulders slumping slightly. “Fine,” he muttered. “What’s the name, then?”

Clara tilted her head, studying him for a moment before her lips curved into a faint smirk. “Dara,” she said, her tone decisive. “Simple, feminine, and close enough to your real name that you won’t forget it.”

Dorian—Dara now—grimaced but nodded reluctantly. “Dara,” he said as if testing the name on his tongue. “Alright. I suppose it’ll do.”

“It’s perfect,” Clara said with a grin, shoveling a spoonful of porridge into her mouth. “Now, Dara, keep your head down and eat. You’re one of us now.”

Dara glanced at me, his expression a mix of annoyance and grudging acceptance. I smiled faintly, the sight of him trying to fit into this new role both endearing and bittersweet. It was strange to see him like this, so far removed from the proud, commanding presence I’d known. But even here, in this unlikely disguise, I could see the flicker of his strength, the spark of determination that had always made him who he was.

For now, he was Dara, a servant girl blending into the shadows. But I knew it wouldn’t be long before the real Dorian would rise again—and when he did, nothing would stand in his way.

As good as the disguise was, it didn’t change Dorian’s voice. Over lunch, with some guidance, we practiced a more feminine voice that fit his new body. He was still big, especially for a servant girl, and his vain attempt at a feminine voice suited his looks almost too well. We finished lunch and bussed our dishes before heading back to our room, dragging Dora with us.

The walk back to our room was quiet, the tension from the dining hall still lingering as the three of us navigated the castle’s corridors. Dara—Dorian—kept his head down, his movements still awkward and uncoordinated in the servant’s garb, but he was learning to adapt. Clara led the way, her pace brisk, while I stayed close to Dara, silently offering support when his steps faltered.

When we reached the room, Clara pushed the door open and stepped inside first, heading toward her side of the cramped space to start organizing the few items she had. Dara followed hesitantly, his eyes scanning the room with a mix of curiosity and discomfort. I shut the door softly behind us, leaning against it for a moment to catch my breath.

The tension in Dara’s posture was unmistakable as he turned to me, his eyes flicking briefly toward Clara before returning to mine. I could see the question forming on his lips; his brow furrowed in thought as he struggled to find the words.

“Liliana,” he started, his voice low and hesitant. “I, uh... I wanted to ask you something.”

I tilted my head slightly, curious but wary. “What is it?”

His gaze darted toward Clara again, who was rummaging through a small chest near her bed, seemingly oblivious to our exchange. He lowered his voice further, leaning slightly closer. “I just... I don’t know if... you know, if you’re still...?”

I frowned, my mind racing to decipher his awkward phrasing. “Still what?” I asked cautiously.

He hesitated, his cheeks reddening slightly as he gestured vaguely toward me, his voice dropping to a whisper. “You know... are you still wearing...?”

My face grew hot as the meaning behind his question clicked into place. He didn’t want outright to mention the diapers, not in front of Clara, but his awkwardness made it glaringly obvious what he was referring to. I glanced toward Clara, who was still focused on her task, then back at him.

“Yes,” I whispered sharply, cutting him off before he could stumble through any more of the questions. “Now stop asking.”

His face flushed deeper, and he nodded quickly, looking away. “Right. Sorry,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “Just... wasn’t sure.”

As the tension in the room began to settle, I couldn’t resist the flicker of amusement that bubbled up inside me. Dorian’s awkwardness, his clear discomfort at the situation, was an unusual but oddly endearing sight. He wasn’t used to being on the back foot, and a small part of me couldn’t help but tease him—just a little.

I turned to Clara, keeping my tone deliberately casual but loud enough to ensure Dorian could hear every word. “Clara,” I said sweetly, “would you mind helping me change my diaper before we head back to work? I want to make sure Mistress doesn’t find a reason to complain.”

Clara didn’t even blink, her hands already reaching for the supplies from my wardrobe. “Of course,” she said briskly, pulling out a fresh diaper and wipes. “Better safe than sorry.” She had correctly assumed that Dorian was well aware of my diapers and hadn’t thought twice about it. She possibly saw it as a bit odd I didn’t ask him, but he was still weak from being in prison, she could understand why I would ask her instead.

I glanced at Dorian out of the corner of my eye, biting back a grin as his face turned a shade of red I didn’t think was possible. His mouth opened slightly as if he wanted to say something, but no words came out. He looked absolutely mortified, his eyes darting between Clara and me like he couldn’t decide where to look—or where not to look.

Clara, oblivious to his inner turmoil, patted the bed. “Come on, Liliana, lie down,” she said matter-of-factly. “The sooner we get this done, the sooner we can get back to work.”

I flopped down onto the bed without hesitation, my heart racing with a mix of embarrassment and mischief. Clara moved with practiced efficiency, lifting my dress and getting to work without a second thought. The sound of the tapes being undone filled the room, and I caught a glimpse of Dorian out of the corner of my eye. He was frozen in place, his hands gripping the edge of his seat as if it were the only thing anchoring him.

Dorian’s gaze flicked to me briefly, his lips pressed into a tight line as his cheeks burned brighter. He looked like he wanted to crawl under the bed and disappear, his entire demeanor screaming discomfort.

Clara finished quickly, taping me into a fresh diaper and smoothing my dress back down with a practiced air. “There you go,” she said, standing and brushing her hands off. “All set.”

I sat up, giving her a grateful smile, before turning my attention to Dorian. “You okay over there, Dara?” I asked innocently, tilting my head as if I didn’t already know the answer.

He swallowed hard, his eyes fixed firmly on the floor as he muttered, “Fine.”

Clara raised an eyebrow, glancing at Dorian before clearing her throat awkwardly. “Well,” she said hesitantly, “I suppose it’s my turn. I hate to admit it, but this thing’s driving me crazy. I can’t focus on work like this.”

Her words hung in the air for a moment, and I caught the faint flush creeping up her neck. She wasn’t certain about having Dorian there, and I could see the hesitation in her eyes as she shifted uncomfortably. Before she could change her mind, I stepped in, keeping my tone reassuring.

“It’s okay,” I said gently, placing a hand on her arm. “Dorian won’t say anything, right?”

Dorian, who had been doing his best to avoid eye contact since my change, nodded quickly, his face still a brilliant shade of red. “Right,” he muttered, his voice barely audible, not even fully aware of what was happening. He had no clue of Clara’s diapers, but he was about to.

Clara sighed, clearly still embarrassed but resigned to the situation. “Fine,” she said, her tone clipped. “But he’s turning away. I don’t need an audience.”

“Of course,” Dorian said hastily, spinning in his chair so his back was to us. “I’m not looking.”

Clara huffed, her face red as she lay down on her bed, glancing at me nervously. “Just... get it over with,” she muttered, her hands clenching the fabric of her dress.

I nodded, keeping my movements calm and organized as I gathered a fresh diaper and wipes from her wardrobe. “Don’t worry,” I said softly, offering her a small smile. “We’ll be quick.”

As I lifted her dress, Clara squeezed her eyes shut, her face burning with embarrassment. “This is the worst,” she muttered under her breath.

“It’s not so bad,” I said gently, trying to ease her nerves as I untaped her diaper. “At least you’ll be clean and dry. That’s what matters, right?”

She groaned softly, her hands covering her face as I worked quickly, doing my best to be as efficient and discreet as possible. The sound of the tapes and the faint crinkle of the diaper filled the room, but Dorian remained silent, his back still turned and his shoulders stiff.

Once Clara was changed and her dress smoothed back down, I stepped back, giving her space to sit up. She did so gingerly, her face still flushed as she avoided looking at Dorian. “Thanks,” she muttered, her voice begrudging but genuine.

“You’re welcome,” I replied, offering her a reassuring smile before turning to Dorian. “All done.”

Dorian hesitated for a moment before glancing over his shoulder, his face still bright red. “Great,” he said awkwardly, standing and shuffling toward the door. “Can we just get back to work now?”

“Absolutely,” Clara said quickly, brushing past him with her chin held high, her earlier embarrassment already fading. “Let’s go.”

I followed them out, the faint tension in the air easing as we returned to the hallway. Despite the awkwardness, I couldn’t help but feel a small sense of satisfaction. For all the challenges we faced, moments like these reminded me that we were in this together—awkward, embarrassing, and all.