The Crimson Crown

As we filed out of the dining hall and made our way toward the cleaning closet, I noticed Dorian—or Dara, as Clara had so aptly renamed him—lingering behind. His steps slowed until we were a few paces away from Clara, who strode ahead with purpose, her posture brisk as always.

“Liliana,” he murmured, his voice low and careful. “Can we talk for a moment?”

I glanced at him, my heart tightening slightly at the uncertainty in his expression. “Of course,” I said softly, matching his slower pace.

He hesitated, glancing ahead to ensure Clara was far enough away before continuing. “What the storms were that,” he began, his voice barely above a whisper, “you let Clara in on your diapers? Not only that, but she’s wearing them too. What did I miss?”

I exhaled slowly, the weight of his question pressing down on me. “It’s... complicated,” I said, keeping my voice just as quiet. “Mistress has a way of keeping the servants in line. The punishments are humiliating, degrading, but... they work.”

Dorian—or Dara—frowned, his brows knitting together. “You mean the diapers,” he said, his tone laced with disbelief. “Mistress forces her to wear them?”

I flushed, the embarrassment of the admission clinging to me like a second skin. “Yes,” I said quietly, my eyes fixed on the stone floor as we walked. “It started as part of her control over me—over Clara, too. She expects us to... use them. She says it makes us more obedient.”

His frown deepened, his jaw tightening. “And Clara?” he asked after a moment. “She knew about yours?”

I nodded, a faint heat rising to my cheeks. “She found out,” I admitted, glancing at him briefly. “It’s not exactly something I could hide from her, sharing a room and all. She’s... been kind about it, though. As much as she can be, given the circumstances.”

Dorian was silent for a long moment, his expression unreadable. “This Mistress,” he said finally, his voice sharp but controlled. “She’s sadistic. Twisted.”

“She’s dangerous,” I corrected, my tone firm despite the lingering shame. “And she has a lot of power here. We have to play by her rules if we want to stay under the radar. Especially now.”

He stopped walking, his hand brushing lightly against my arm, urging me to pause. “Liliana,” he said, his voice low but filled with determination. “I’ll follow your lead. But this—this can’t go on forever. When we take back the kingdom, people like her... they’ll answer for what they’ve done.”

I looked up at him, the strength in his eyes sparking something inside me. “I know,” I said, my voice steady despite the tremor in my chest. “But for now, we have to survive. That means keeping up appearances, no matter how humiliating it is.”

Dorian exhaled heavily, his shoulders slumping slightly as he nodded. “Alright,” he said reluctantly. “Let’s survive, then.”

With that, we resumed our pace, the tension lingering but unspoken as we caught up with Clara at the cleaning closet. I could see the questions still brewing behind Dorian’s eyes, but for now, they would have to wait. Survival came first. Everything else would follow.

We moved to another section of the East Wing, buckets in hand and sponges at the ready. The tension between us was palpable, especially with Dorian lagging, his steps slow and hesitant. Clara shot him an irritated glance over her shoulder as we knelt and began scrubbing.

“If you keep dragging your feet, someone’s going to notice,” she hissed under her breath, her sponge moving with quick, practiced strokes. “Act like you belong, or you’ll get us all killed.”

Dorian muttered something under his breath, but he knelt reluctantly, dipping his sponge into the soapy water. His movements were stiff and clumsy, and I had to fight the urge to guide him again, knowing it would only draw more attention to us. Instead, I focused on my section of the floor, the monotonous task giving me far too much time to think.

As the minutes stretched on, the faint sound of voices reached my ears. I froze, my sponge hovering over the floor as I strained to listen. Clara must have heard it too, her movements slowing as her head tilted slightly toward the source of the noise.

It was coming from the throne room.

The unmistakable voice of King Thryne cut through the air, sharp and filled with rage. “How did this happen?” he bellowed, the sheer force of his voice making me cringe. “You were charged with guarding him—him! The very symbol of their resistance, and you let him slip through your fingers?”

Clara and I exchanged a glance, her expression tight with unease as the king’s tirade continued. I glanced at Dorian, his face pale and drawn, his hands trembling slightly as he gripped his sponge. He looked as though he wanted to bolt, but he remained rooted to the spot, his head lowered.

The king’s voice grew louder, his words dripping with venom. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done? The chaos this will cause? The embarrassment? My embarrassment! You’ve made fools of us all!”

There was a faint, mumbled response—too quiet for us to hear—but it seemed to enrage Thryne further. A loud crash followed, the sound of something heavy being thrown against the wall, and my heart leaped into my throat.

“Useless!” Thryne roared, his voice echoing through the halls. “Utterly useless! I should make an example of you all.”

The air seemed to grow heavier, a suffocating silence falling over the throne room. Then, suddenly, a wet, sickening sound cut through the quiet, followed by a thud. My stomach churned, bile rising in my throat as I realized what we’d just heard.

Clara’s face was pale, her eyes wide with horror as she met my gaze. “Did he just...?” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

I swallowed hard, unable to answer. The silence from the throne room was deafening, the tension pressing down on us like a physical weight. Dorian’s hands clenched into fists, his knuckles white as he stared at the floor, his body trembling with barely contained emotion.

As we continued scrubbing, the heavy silence that followed the king’s violent outburst was soon broken by the murmur of voices. The tone was different now—lower, cautious, filled with unease. It was clear that whoever was speaking was doing so carefully; their words weighed with the knowledge of the king’s wrath.

“We must tread carefully, Your Majesty,” one voice said, trembling with barely concealed fear. “The news is... troubling.”

There was a tense pause, and then Thryne’s voice cut through the air, sharp and cold. “Speak plainly,” he commanded, his words dripping with impatience. “What news?”

Another voice, softer and more hesitant, responded. “The Four Winds army, sire. They’ve surrounded the castle and the town. They’ve established a siege.”

The words seemed to hang in the air, and for a moment, all I could hear was the faint sound of our sponges dragging across the floor. My hands moved mechanically, but my mind was racing, my breath catching as I processed what I’d just heard.

“A siege?” Thryne’s voice was low, almost dangerously calm. “You’re telling me that my castle—the seat of my conquest—is now surrounded?”

“Yes, sire,” the first voice said, their tone filled with regret. “No one can enter or leave the town. The army is cutting off supplies. They mean to starve us out.”

The sound of pacing reached my ears, the sharp click of boots against stone as the king processed this information. “And what of reinforcements?” he demanded, his voice growing sharper with each word. “Where is my army? Why are they not here to crush this pathetic resistance?”

“Blocked, sire,” another voice said nervously. “The Four Winds forces have taken strategic positions throughout the region. They’re cutting off all roads. Your reinforcements cannot break through.”

The tension in the throne room was suffocating, the king’s anger simmering just beneath the surface. I could imagine him standing there, his hands clenched into fists, his jaw tight with barely restrained fury.

“They think they can starve me out,” They said, his voice low and venomous. “They think they can force me to surrender, to bend to their pathetic will.”

There was a long pause, broken only by the nervous shuffling of his council. “Your Majesty,” one of them ventured hesitantly, “perhaps we should consider—”

“Consider what?” Thryne snapped his voice like a whip. “Negotiation? Retreat? You dare suggest I bow to these savages after everything I’ve done to secure this throne?”

“No, sire,” the voice stammered quickly. “I only meant—”

“Silence!” Thryne roared, the sound of something heavy slamming against the wall making us all cringe. “If they want to starve, let them. They’ll break before I do.”

The council fell silent, their fear palpable even from our distant vantage point. I could feel my own heart pounding, the weight of the news settling over me like a stone. The Four Winds army was here. They were fighting to take back the kingdom. But with the town under siege, escape was impossible—for us, for Dorian, for anyone.

Clara leaned closer to me, her voice barely a whisper. “This changes everything,” she murmured, her sponge pausing for a brief moment. “If they’re starving out of the castle...”

“We need to be careful,” I whispered back, my voice shaking slightly. “Thryne’s going to get desperate. And desperate men are dangerous.”

Dorian remained silent, his head bowed as he scrubbed, but I could see the tension in his shoulders, the barely concealed rage simmering beneath the surface. For now, we had to stay invisible, bide our time, and wait for the moment to strike. But as the king’s angry voice echoed through the halls, I couldn’t shake the feeling that our time was running out.

Thryne’s pacing slowed, his boots clicking deliberately against the stone floor, a chilling calm settling over his tone as he addressed his council. “If they think they can starve me out,” he began, his voice dripping with malice, “then we must ensure that those within these walls suffer more than we do. Let them feel the true weight of their decisions.”

The council exchanged uneasy glances, their silence filled with trepidation. One brave soul finally spoke up, their voice trembling. “Your Majesty, the people within the town are already struggling. Food is scarce, and morale is low. If we push them too far—”

“Morale?” Thryne interrupted his voice sharp and biting. “I care nothing for their morale. These people are my subjects now. They will learn to obey or perish. Their suffering will send a message to those outside these walls—a message that defiance will cost them dearly.”

A tense silence followed, broken only by the faint shuffling of feet as the council members shifted uncomfortably. Thryne’s voice grew darker, colder, as he continued. “We will ration the remaining supplies, but only for those who are useful to me. The soldiers, the guards, those who keep the wheels of this castle turning—they will eat. The rest... they will endure.”

“My King,” another councilor said hesitantly, their voice barely above a whisper. “If we deny the people food, there could be riots. Chaos. It will only weaken our position.”

Thryne let out a low, humorless laugh. “Then we will ensure there are no riots. Double the guard patrols. Make it clear that any dissent will be met with swift and merciless punishment. Let them know that their survival depends on their obedience.”

His words sent a shiver down my spine, the sheer brutality of his plan making my stomach churn. But then, as if that weren’t enough, he delivered the final blow, his tone cold and calculated.

“And to send a message,” he continued, “we will execute ten townsfolk every day the siege continues. Randomly chosen. Publicly displayed. Let the Four Winds army see the cost of their defiance. Let them watch as their so-called people crumble from within.”

Gasps echoed from the council, several of them murmuring in protest, but Thryne silenced them with a single, sharp gesture. “You think me cruel?” he asked, his voice an evil whisper. “I do what is necessary to maintain control. To show them the strength of my rule. Hesitation is weakness, and weakness invites rebellion.”

The council fell silent, their fear palpable even from where we knelt in the corridor. My hands trembled against the sponge, my chest tightening as the weight of his words settled over me. This wasn’t just about survival for Thryne—it was about power, about crushing anyone who dared to stand against him.

Clara’s face was pale, her eyes wide as she glanced at me, her lips pressing into a tight line. Dorian’s shoulders were tense, his movements mechanical as he continued scrubbing, but I could see the fire in his eyes, the barely restrained fury simmering beneath the surface.

Thryne’s voice echoed through the halls one last time, his tone final and unyielding. “Prepare the first executions,” he commanded. “By sunset, this castle will understand the price of defiance.”

The heavy silence that followed was deafening, the weight of his cruelty suffocating. My heart pounded in my chest, my mind racing as I struggled to process what we had just heard. Thryne’s ruthlessness was boundless, his willingness to sacrifice innocent lives a testament to his hunger for power.

We had to stop him. Somehow, we had to find a way to end this nightmare. But for now, all we could do was keep our heads down and survive.

As the heavy footsteps of King Thryne and his entourage faded into the distance, the oppressive silence that followed felt almost unbearable. I glanced at Dorian, whose hands were clenched tightly around his sponge, his knuckles white with tension. His jaw was set, his expression dark, and I could see the storm brewing behind his eyes.

Clara’s soft cough broke the silence, and we quickly resumed scrubbing, the sound of our sponges on the stone the only thing masking the murmurs of our voices.

“What do we do?” Dorian whispered, his voice low but sharp. “We can’t just stand by while he executes our people. There has to be a way to stop this.”

I swallowed hard, my mind racing as I tried to think of an answer. “We need to be careful,” I murmured. “If we act too soon, we risk everything. But you’re right—we can’t let this continue.”

“He’s using fear to control them,” Dorian said, his voice trembling with frustration. “If the people think there’s no hope, they’ll break. We need to give them something—anything—to hold onto.”

“But what?” Clara interjected, her tone harsh but not unkind. “We’re three people armed with nothing but sponges. How do we stand against a man like him?”

Dorian exhaled heavily, his shoulders slumping slightly. “The Winds,” he said after a moment, his voice quieter now. “They haven’t abandoned us. Liliana—what if we could use them to help the people?”

I looked at him sharply, his words igniting a spark of hope within me. “You think the Winds could bless them?” I asked, my voice trembling slightly with the weight of the possibility.

Dorian nodded slowly, his gaze steady. “They’ve always been tied to the kingdom, to its people. If we can channel their power—if we can find a way to reach the people—we might be able to protect the townsfolk. Maybe even rally them.”

“The Winds haven’t exactly been cooperative lately,” Clara said skeptically, her brow furrowing. “How do you even begin to channel something like that? Especially for so many people?”

“I don’t know,” Dorian admitted, his tone somber. “But they responded to us before. To you, Liliana. Maybe... maybe they’re waiting for something. For us to prove ourselves.”

The thought sent a shiver down my spine, my hands stilling against the floor as I considered his words. The Winds had stirred within me before, their power a flicker of hope in moments of despair. But this—blessing an entire town, shielding them from Thryne’s cruelty—felt insurmountable.

Still, the alternative was unthinkable.

“We have to try,” I said finally, my voice firm despite the fear curling in my chest. “We owe it to the people. To your parents, Dorian. To everyone who’s already lost so much.”

Dorian’s gaze softened, a faint glimmer of gratitude flickering in his eyes. “Then we try,” he said, his voice unwavering. “We find a way to reach the Winds and ask for their help.”

Clara sighed her expression a mixture of reluctance and determination. “If this goes wrong, we’re all dead,” she muttered, shaking her head. “But... if there’s even a chance, I’m in.”

A faint smile tugged at the corners of my lips, the weight of their resolve bolstering my own. The odds were against us, and the path ahead was treacherous, but for the first time in what felt like forever, I felt a spark of hope. Together, we would find a way to stand against Thryne’s tyranny. The Winds had not abandoned us, and neither would we abandon our people.