The Crimson Crown

The morning passed in a blur as I moved from group to group, weaving through the castle’s labyrinthine halls to find every cluster of servants I could. Each encounter was much like the first—quiet, deliberate, and filled with purpose. I knelt beside girls scrubbing floors or polishing fixtures, joining their work for a time before revealing another small, withered flower I carried. Each time, I channeled the Wind of Spring, watching as their tired faces lit with astonishment as the bloom returned to life.

With each demonstration, I told them the same truth: I was the rightful Queen, and the Winds had not forsaken us. One by one, they nodded, their expressions shifting from disbelief to cautious hope. I didn’t stay long with any one group, knowing the risks of being noticed, but by the time I had made my way back toward the East Wing, I had planted the seeds of rebellion in more hearts than I could count.

As I entered the familiar corridor, the sight of Clara and Dorian scrubbing floors filled me with a surprising sense of relief. Clara glanced up first, her shoulders visibly relaxed as she saw me. Dorian followed his expression, a mix of exasperation and concern.

“Where have you been?” Clara hissed, standing to stretch her back and set down her sponge. “We thought Mistress had caught you!”

I offered them a small, apologetic smile as I knelt beside them, dipping my sponge into the bucket of soapy water. “I’ve been busy,” I said, my tone light but purposeful.

“Busy doing what?” Clara pressed, narrowing her eyes as she leaned closer. “You can’t just wander off like that.”

“I’ve been planting seeds,” I replied cryptically, glancing around to ensure we were alone before lowering my voice. “I’ve been rallying the servants. Showing them the Winds. I needed to,” I said firmly, meeting their gazes in turn. “If we’re going to take back the kingdom, we need more than just the three of us. I showed them that the Winds are still with us, that I’m still with them. And they’re ready. When the time comes, they’ll be on our side.”

Clara sank back onto her knees, her expression shifting into something almost reverent. “You’re braver than I thought,” she admitted, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “Reckless but brave.”

Dorian’s brow furrowed, but after a moment, he nodded slowly. “If you think it will work, then I trust you,” he said quietly. “But we’ll need to be careful. The more people who know, the harder it will be to keep it a secret.”

“I know,” I said, dipping my sponge into the water and resuming my work. “But it’s a risk we have to take. We can’t do this alone.”

Clara and Dorian exchanged a glance before joining me, the three of us working side by side to finish the hall. The tension between us eased slightly as the morning wore on, replaced by a quiet determination. With every stroke of the sponge, I felt the hope I had sparked earlier grow stronger, the Winds stirring faintly in my chest as if to affirm that I was on the right path.

The three of us worked diligently, the sound of scrubbing echoing through the corridor as we finished the hall. The task was grueling, and while Dorian—or Dara, as we were now calling him—was growing slightly more coordinated with his sponge, his movements were still clumsy. Clara shot him occasional glances, her sharp eyes silently critiquing his technique, but for once, she kept her comments to herself.

When we were finally done, we gathered our buckets and sponges and made our way back to the cleaning closet. My arms ached, my legs felt like lead, and the ever-present crinkle of my wet diaper only added to my mounting irritation. But I pushed the discomfort aside. There were more pressing matters to focus on.

With the buckets returned, we turned toward Mistress’s meeting room, bracing ourselves for the usual inspection. As we approached, I noticed her sharp eyes flick past us, landing on Dara, who lingered awkwardly behind. A spark of recognition lit up Mistress’s face, and her lips curled into a sly smile.

“You there,” she called, motioning for Dara to step forward. “Come here.”

Dara stiffened, his eyes darting to Clara and me, but he obeyed, stepping hesitantly into the room. Mistress’s gaze swept over him appraisingly before shifting back to us. “I’ve seen you lingering with these two,” she said, her tone laced with disdain. “It seems you’ve become quite close. Too close, perhaps.”

Clara’s jaw tightened, but she remained silent, her hands clenched at her sides. I bit my lip, my heart pounding as Mistress’s smirk widened.

“You see,” Mistress continued, addressing Dara now, “I know these two well. Their... proclivities have already led to their current punishment, and I’m worried that their bad habits might rub off on you.”

Dara’s eyes widened slightly, his jaw tightening as he tried to keep his composure. “Mistress, I—”

“Silence,” she snapped, cutting him off. “I’ve made my decision. If you insist on keeping such questionable company, then it’s only fitting that you join them in their punishment.”

My breath caught in my throat, and Clara’s lips parted as if to protest, but a sharp glance from Mistress silenced her. Dara, to his credit, didn’t react outwardly, but I could see the tension in his shoulders, the barely restrained anger flickering in his eyes.

Mistress turned toward us, her smirk growing as she motioned for the three of us to step closer. “After lunch, I will expect all three of you to report to me for inspection. And you—” she gestured to Dara, her tone dripping with mockery—“will be properly diapered by then. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, Mistress,” we murmured in unison, the words bitter on my tongue.

“Good,” she said, her voice cold and satisfied. “Now, off to lunch with you. And don’t dawdle—I will not tolerate lateness.”

We bowed our heads and left the room, the tension between us palpable as we made our way toward the dining hall. Dara walked stiffly beside me, his hands clenched into fists, his expression a mixture of humiliation and fury.

“This is absurd,” he muttered under his breath, his voice low enough that only Clara and I could hear. “She can’t just—”

“She can,” Clara interjected, her tone sharp but not unkind. “And she will. We have to play her game, Dara. For now.”

I reached out, brushing my hand against his arm in a silent gesture of reassurance. “It’ll be okay,” I said softly, though I wasn’t sure I believed it myself. “We’ll get through this. Together.”

Dara didn’t respond, but he nodded faintly, his jaw still tight. As we entered the dining hall, the weight of Mistress’s decree hung heavily over us. Lunch offered little comfort, and I could feel the unspoken tension between us as we ate in silence, each of us lost in our thoughts. The rebellion couldn’t come soon enough.

After the last bite of our meager lunch, we bused our dishes and made our way back to the room in heavy silence. The weight of Mistress’s decree hung over us like a storm cloud, and I could feel the tension radiating from Dara as he trailed slightly behind Clara and me. His usual sharp demeanor had been replaced with something quieter, more subdued as if he were bracing himself for what was to come.

The moment we stepped inside, Clara closed the door with a soft click and turned toward me, her expression neutral but her movements brisk. “Alright,” she said, rolling up her sleeves. “Let’s get this over with. Liliana, you first.”

I nodded, grateful for her efficiency, as I stepped toward the bed. Lying down on the familiar surface, I bit my lip as Clara got to work, her hands moving deftly to remove my soiled diaper and clean me with practiced care. She said nothing as she taped a fresh one in place, though I caught a flicker of sympathy in her eyes as she helped me to sit up.

“Your turn,” I said softly, gesturing for her to take my place.

Clara didn’t hesitate, lying back on the bed and folding her hands over her stomach as I gathered the supplies. I worked quickly, the task now so familiar that my hands moved almost automatically. Clara, as always, remained composed, though I noticed the faintest hint of a blush on her cheeks as I secured the fresh diaper around her waist.

With Clara changed, we both turned to Dara, who stood stiffly by the wardrobe, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. His face was flushed, his jaw clenched, and his eyes avoided ours as if he could will the situation away through sheer determination.

“Come on, Dara,” Clara said, her tone firm but not unkind. “We don’t have all day.”

“I can do it myself,” Dara muttered, his voice low and bristling with barely restrained anger.

“No, you can’t,” Clara shot back, her hands on her hips. “You’ve never done this before, and we don’t have time for you to figure it out. Just... get over here, and let’s get it done.”

He hesitated, his pride warring with practicality, but after a long moment, he sighed heavily and stepped toward the bed. His movements were stiff, his shoulders tense as he lay down, staring resolutely at the ceiling as if refusing to acknowledge what was happening.

Clara handed me the supplies, her expression unreadable as she stepped back to give us space. I hesitated, my hands trembling slightly as I picked up the diaper, my embarrassment rising to match Dara’s.

“This is ridiculous,” he muttered, his voice tight as I carefully lifted the hem of his dress. “Absolutely ridiculous.”

“Welcome to our world,” Clara quipped, though her tone lacked its usual bite.

I worked as quickly and gently as I could, doing my best to ignore Dara’s mortified expression as I secured the diaper around his waist. His silence was deafening, his discomfort palpable, but he said nothing more as I finished and stepped back, giving him room to sit up.

“There,” I said softly, avoiding his gaze. “All done.”

Dara sat up slowly, his movements stiff as he smoothed his dress back into place. His face was a deep shade of red, his jaw tight, but he managed a faint nod of acknowledgment. “Thanks,” he muttered, though his voice was barely audible.

Clara folded her arms, her expression softening slightly. “Look, I know it’s humiliating,” she said, her tone gentler now. “But it’s better than Mistress having an excuse to punish you. And trust me, you do not want to give her that satisfaction.”

Dara exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “Fine,” he said after a long pause. “Let’s just... get through this.”

We exchanged a glance, a silent agreement passing between us. This was just another trial, another humiliation to endure on the path to reclaiming what was ours. With a deep breath, we left the room together, ready to face whatever Mistress had in store for us.

The walk to Mistress’s office was suffocating. The air between us was thick with tension, and I could feel the strain radiating from Dara with every step. His hands clenched and unclenched at his sides, his jaw tight, and his usual grace seemed to falter under the weight of his growing frustration.

Clara and I exchanged a glance, but neither of us said anything as we approached the door. Mistress’s sharp voice called us inside before we even had the chance to knock.

“Enter,” she barked, her tone already grating on my nerves.

We stepped into the room, and Mistress’s piercing gaze swept over us. Her lips curled into a smirk as she motioned us forward. “Line up,” she ordered curtly, her eyes glinting with a cruel satisfaction. “Let’s see if my little girls have been obedient.”

I swallowed hard as we formed a line, Clara on one side, Dara on the other, and me in the middle. Mistress began her inspection with Clara, lifting her dress to inspect her diaper with a practiced flick of her wrist. She gave a firm pat to the front and back, her smirk deepening. “Good girl,” she said mockingly. 

Clara remained silent, her head bowed, though I could see the tightness in her shoulders. Mistress moved to me next, and I braced myself as she flipped up my dress, her hands roughly checking my diaper. “Still compliant, I see,” she said, her tone dripping with condescension. “Let’s hope you stay that way.”

Finally, she turned to Dara, her smirk widening as she approached. “And now for my newest little project,” she said, her voice almost sing-song. “Lift your dress.”

Dara hesitated, his jaw tightening as his hands twitched at his sides. “Mistress, I—”

“Now,” she snapped, her tone sharp and commanding.

Reluctantly, Dara obeyed, lifting the hem of his dress to reveal the fresh diaper beneath. Mistress’s eyes gleamed with satisfaction as she stepped closer, her hands inspecting him with the same demeaning thoroughness she had shown us.

“Well,” she said, her voice laced with mockery. “It seems you’ve finally been put in your place. Perhaps a little humility will do you some good.”

Dara’s hands clenched into fists, and I could see the storm brewing in his eyes. Clara and I exchanged a panicked glance, but before either of us could intervene, Dara snapped.

“Enough!” he shouted, his voice echoing off the walls. “I’m not some plaything for your amusement! You’ve gone too far—”

Mistress’s expression darkened instantly, her smirk replaced by a cold, steely glare. “Excuse me?” she said, her voice low and dangerous.

Clara grabbed Dara’s arm, hissing under her breath. “Stop it! You’re making it worse!”

But Dara ignored her, his anger spilling out in a torrent of words. “You think this is power? Humiliating people for your twisted pleasure? You’re pathetic—”

“Enough!” Mistress snapped, her voice cutting through his tirade like a whip. In one swift motion, she seized his arm and yanked him forward, forcing him over her lap. Dara struggled, but Mistress’s grip was ironclad as she flipped up his dress, exposing the diaper beneath.

“This,” she said coldly, raising her hand, “is what happens when little girls forget their place.”

The sound of the first smack echoed through the room, sharp and unrelenting. Dara flinched, his struggles intensifying, but Mistress held him firmly in place, her hand coming down again and again with a brutal rhythm.

Clara and I stood frozen, horror and helplessness coursing through us as Dara’s protests turned into gritted silence, then quiet whimpers. Mistress’s expression was one of cruel satisfaction, her lips curling into a smirk as she delivered the punishment with unwavering precision.

Finally, she stopped, her hand resting on Dara’s back as she leaned down to speak. “You will learn respect,” she said, her tone icy. “And you will learn obedience. Do you understand me?”

Dara didn’t respond at first, his breath hitching as he struggled to compose himself. Mistress’s hand came down one final time, and he flinched, nodding weakly. “Y-yes, Mistress,” he murmured, his voice barely audible.

“Good,” she said, pushing him off her lap unceremoniously. “Now fix your dress and join your little friends. You’re dismissed.”

We hurried to help Dara to his feet; his face flushed with humiliation as he avoided our gazes. Together, we left the room, the oppressive silence between us saying more than words ever could. The rebellion couldn’t come soon enough.