The Crimson Crown

The weight of the morning still lingered heavily as we collected our buckets and sponges from the cleaning closet. Dara moved stiffly, his face flushed and his demeanor subdued after Mistress’s punishment. Clara and I exchanged glances but said nothing; there was nothing to say that would ease the sting of what had happened.

We reached a new corridor in the East Wing, and as Clara and Dara settled into the familiar rhythm of scrubbing, I couldn’t ignore the churn of thoughts in my mind. The image of Mistress’s smirk, of the guards stomping through the halls, of King Thryne’s cruel grip on my kingdom—all of it swirled together into a storm of frustration and determination.

I stood, clutching my sponge tightly as I scanned the dim corridor. There were still so many servants I hadn’t spoken to, so many hearts and minds that needed to be rallied if this rebellion was going to have any hope of succeeding. I had to keep going.

“I’ll be back,” I murmured, stepping away from the others.

Clara glanced up, her brows furrowing. “Liliana—”

“I’ll be careful,” I interrupted, offering her a faint smile. “Promise.”

She sighed but didn’t argue, returning to her work as I slipped away, my bucket swinging lightly in my hand.

The castle was a maze of corridors, each one filled with potential allies. I moved quietly, my steps deliberate as I sought out groups of servants huddled in dim corners or bent over their tasks. My heart raced with every encounter, but I forced myself to stay calm, to keep my voice low and steady as I spoke.

Each time, I performed the same small demonstration: the withered flower in my apron blooming under the touch of the Wind of Spring. Each time, I saw the same expressions of astonishment, disbelief, and, finally, cautious hope.

“I’m the rightful Queen of the Four Winds,” I told them. “And I can’t reclaim our kingdom without you. When the time comes, I’ll need your help. Will you stand with me?”

Some nodded immediately, their eyes alight with newfound purpose. Others hesitated, fear still etched into their faces, but even they seemed to cling to the faint glimmer of hope I offered. The seeds were taking root, but I couldn’t shake the nagging doubt gnawing at the edges of my resolve.

What could a bunch of servants do against a castle full of trained soldiers? The question haunted me as I moved from group to group, my words becoming more vibrant with each encounter. I didn’t have all the answers, but I knew one thing: we had to try. The kingdom was worth fighting for, even if the odds were stacked against us.

By the time I returned to Clara and Dara, my bucket nearly empty and my heart heavy with both hope and doubt, they had made significant progress on the hall. Clara looked up as I approached, relief flickering across her face.

“You’re pushing it,” she muttered, her tone somewhere between admonishment and approval.

“I know,” I said softly, kneeling beside her and dipping my sponge into the soapy water. “But it’s working. They believe in us. They believe in the Winds.”

Dara glanced at me, his expression still guarded but curious. “Do you?” he asked quietly. “Do you really think we can pull this off?”

I met his gaze, my hands trembling slightly as I resumed scrubbing. “I have to,” I said. “Because if I don’t, then what’s left for any of us?”

The three of us fell into silence, the sound of our sponges scraping against the stone echoing through the corridor. The rebellion was a fragile, desperate hope, but it was all we had. And I would fight for it with everything I had.

The hours dragged on as we worked, the monotony of scrubbing floors doing little to distract from the weight of the day. The rhythmic sound of our sponges moving against the stone was both soothing and maddening, a constant reminder of the reality we found ourselves in. My thoughts drifted as I scrubbed, the cool stone beneath my knees pressing into me uncomfortably.

And then, the familiar ache in my stomach began to stir. My movements faltered slightly, and I shifted, trying to alleviate the pressure without drawing attention to myself. The ache grew more insistent, and I pressed a hand lightly against my tummy, willing it to stop.

Clara noticed immediately. Her sponge paused mid-swipe, and she glanced over at me, her brow furrowing. “Are you okay?” she asked softly, her voice low enough that Dara wouldn’t overhear.

I hesitated, biting my lip. “I... I need to go,” I admitted, my cheeks burning as I avoided her gaze.

Clara sighed, sitting back on her heels. “You’re not alone,” she muttered, her discomfort evident in the tightness of her voice. “I’ve been holding it in too.”

The realization that we were both in the same predicament brought little comfort. My stomach churned, the pressure mounting with every passing moment. I could feel the warmth of humiliation creeping up my neck, and my hands trembled slightly as I resumed scrubbing, desperate to distract myself.

“We can’t,” I whispered, more to myself than to Clara. “Not here.”

“We don’t have a choice,” Clara said quietly, her tone resigned. “Mistress expects it. If we hold out too long and she finds out, she’ll make it worse.”

I squeezed my eyes shut, the humiliation threatening to overwhelm me. The ache in my stomach grew unbearable, and I knew Clara was right. No matter how much I wanted to resist, my body had other plans.

Moments later, I felt my control slip and, with it, a humiliating wave of relief and shame as I filled my diaper. My cheeks burned, and I kept my head down, focusing intently on the floor as my stomach churned with embarrassment. The muffled crinkle of the diaper as I shifted was almost too much to bear.

Clara wasn’t far behind. I heard her soft, resigned sigh as she gave in as well, her face flushing deeply as she shifted uncomfortably in her now-soiled diaper. Neither of us spoke, the silence between us thick with shared shame.

“We just have to finish this hall,” Clara muttered, breaking the silence, her voice tight. “Then we can deal with it.”

I nodded faintly, though my hands shook as I scrubbed. The mess squished beneath me with every movement, a constant, humiliating reminder of my situation. My thoughts swirled with anger, shame, and determination. This couldn’t be my life forever. I had to find a way to reclaim my dignity, my kingdom—everything that had been taken from me.

But for now, I scrubbed in silence, the weight of my shame pressing down as heavily as the work itself.

As the sun climbed higher, signaling the approach of lunchtime, the three of us continued scrubbing in relative silence. The only sounds were the soft scrape of sponges against stone and the occasional shuffle of feet. My diaper squished uncomfortably with every movement, a constant reminder of the earlier humiliation Clara and I had endured. Clara seemed just as resigned, her cheeks still faintly pink as she avoided looking in my direction.

Dara, on the other hand, was a bundle of restless energy. He shifted constantly, his movements jerky and uncoordinated as he scrubbed. The furrow in his brow and the tightness in his jaw were impossible to miss.

“Something wrong, Dara?” Clara asked, her tone dry but curious as she glanced up from her work.

“I’m fine,” Dara snapped, though his voice cracked slightly, betraying his discomfort. His knees pressed together as he adjusted his position, his sponge faltering mid-swipe.

I raised an eyebrow, exchanging a knowing glance with Clara. “You don’t look fine,” I said cautiously, leaning slightly closer. “What’s going on?”

Dara hesitated, his cheeks darkening as he avoided our eyes. “I... I need to pee,” he admitted grudgingly, his voice barely above a whisper.

Clara and I both froze, the silence stretching for a beat before Clara let out a soft, disbelieving laugh. “Well, that’s what your diaper’s for,” she said, her tone light but pointed. “What’s the problem?”

“The problem,” Dara hissed, his glare snapping toward Clara, “is that I’m not doing it. I’m not—” He stopped, gritting his teeth as he clenched his fists. “I’m not using this thing. I’ll just... I’ll find a bathroom.”

I straightened, setting my sponge aside as I regarded him carefully. “You can’t,” I said gently but firmly. “If Mistress finds out you didn’t use your diaper, she’ll punish you. Probably all of us.”

“She doesn’t have to find out,” Dara shot back, his voice rising slightly. “I’ll be careful—”

“Dara,” Clara interrupted, her tone sharp. “You’re not exactly subtle, you know. And Mistress always knows. Just... stop fighting it. It’s easier that way.”

His frustration was palpable as he scrubbed harder, his knuckles turning white around the sponge. “I’m not a child,” he muttered through clenched teeth. “I won’t... I can’t...”

I placed a hand on his arm, stopping him mid-motion. “None of us want this,” I said softly, my gaze steady. “But if you don’t go through with it, you’ll make everything harder for yourself. For us. Please, Dara.”

He froze, his breathing shallow as he glanced between me and Clara. For a moment, I thought he might argue again, but then he sighed heavily, his shoulders sagging in defeat. “This is insane,” he muttered, his voice barely audible.

We both stayed silent as Dara closed his eyes, his face twisting with a mixture of shame and resignation. Moments later, I heard the faint crinkle of his diaper and saw his posture relax slightly as he finally gave in, soaking it. His cheeks burned bright red as he avoided our eyes, his humiliation written plainly across his face.

Clara gave him a small, sympathetic smile. “See? It’s not the end of the world.”

He shot her a glare, but the fire in his eyes was dampened, replaced with quiet mortification. I kept my thoughts to myself, though the irony wasn’t lost on me. Dorian, the man who had forced me into diapers when we first met, was now wearing them himself, experiencing the same shame and indignity he had once imposed on me.

It wasn’t satisfying, though. It didn’t feel like revenge. It just felt sad.

“We’re almost done,” I said softly, picking up my sponge again. “Let’s finish this hall and get to lunch. We’ll get through this.”

Dara nodded faintly, his movements subdued as he resumed scrubbing. The silence that followed was heavy, but it wasn’t the hopeless silence of before. It was the quiet resolve of three people determined to endure, to survive, and to reclaim what had been taken from them eventually.

As the sun climbed higher, signaling the approach of lunchtime, we gathered our buckets and sponges with aching limbs and heavy hearts. The hall was finally clean, though the weight of our soiled diapers made every step back to the cleaning closet feel like a punishment all its own. Clara walked slightly ahead, her shoulders stiff, while Dara followed behind me, his silence speaking volumes.

The cleaning closet was eerily quiet as we stepped inside. The older woman who had been there on my first day was still nowhere to be seen. Her absence gnawed at me, a faint unease curling in my stomach. What had happened to her? Had she been punished, reassigned, or worse? I shook my head, forcing the thought aside. There wasn’t time to dwell on her fate, not when our own hung so precariously in the balance.

We set our buckets down, rinsing out the sponges and stacking them neatly in their places. The routine tasks were second nature now, but the looming inspection cast a dark shadow over our every movement. None of us spoke as we finished, the tension between us palpable.

Clara was the first to break the silence, her voice clipped and resigned. “Let’s get this over with.”

I nodded, swallowing hard as we filed out of the closet and made our way to Mistress’s office. The corridor felt longer than usual, the oppressive atmosphere growing heavier with each step. Dara’s footsteps faltered slightly behind me, and I glanced back to see his face pale, his jaw tight with dread.

Mistress’s door loomed ahead, the faint murmur of voices from the dining hall in the distance a cruel reminder of the normalcy that eluded us. Clara reached for the handle, hesitating for only a moment before pushing the door open.

Mistress sat at her desk, her piercing gaze snapping at us the moment we entered. A slow, satisfied smile spread across her face as she motioned us forward. “Ah, my favorite trio,” she purred, her voice dripping with condescension. “Come in. Let’s see how well you’ve followed instructions today.”

Reluctantly, we stepped into the room, lining up in front of her desk. My heart pounded in my chest as Mistress stood, her sharp eyes sweeping over us like a predator sizing up its prey. She began with Clara, lifting her dress with a practiced flick of her wrist and inspecting the sagging diaper beneath.

“Good girl,” Mistress said mockingly, giving the back of Clara’s diaper a firm pat before moving on to me. I fought the urge to flinch as she flipped up my dress, her hands roughly checking the front and back of my diaper. “Still obedient,” she remarked with a smirk. “At least you’re consistent.”

Finally, she turned to Dara, her expression alight with cruel anticipation. Dara stiffened as Mistress stepped closer, and I could see the tension in his posture as she lifted his dress. Her hands moved deliberately, her smirk widening as she inspected him.

“Well, well,” she said, her tone dripping with satisfaction. “It seems my newest charge is learning her place. How delightful.”

Dara’s face burned crimson, his hands clenched at his sides as he stared fixedly at the floor. Mistress’s smirk deepened as she gave the front of his diaper a condescending pat before stepping back, her gaze sweeping over the three of us.

“You’ve done well today,” she said, her tone mocking but pleased. “But don’t let it go to your heads. You’ll be back here before dinner for another inspection. And I expect the same... compliance.”

With a dismissive wave of her hand, she motioned us toward the door. “Go on, now. Enjoy your lunch. You’ve earned it.”

We didn’t need to be told twice. The moment we were dismissed, we filed out of the office, the tension in the air almost unbearable. None of us spoke as we walked toward the dining hall, the shame of the inspection clinging to us like a second skin.

For now, all we could do was endure. But deep down, I knew the day was coming when Mistress’s reign over us would end. And when that day came, I would make sure she knew exactly what it felt like to be powerless.

We shuffled into the dining hall, the hum of quiet conversation washing over us. The room was crowded, servants seated in orderly rows, their faces a mix of exhaustion and resignation. The smell of the simple meal wafted through the air, but my stomach churned for reasons entirely unrelated to hunger.

We gathered our trays of food; was it even less than normal? Each of us moved with mechanical precision as we made our way to our usual table near the back. Clara and I exchanged a glance as we approached the bench, the unspoken tension between us palpable. Both of us hesitated, staring at the seats as if they were some terrible punishment.

The thought of sitting down, of feeling the mess in my diaper squish beneath me, was almost unbearable. My cheeks burned, and I could already feel the rising wave of humiliation tightening my chest. Clara’s discomfort was just as obvious, her hand briefly brushing her stomach as she shifted on her feet.

Dara noticed, his brow furrowing as he glanced between us. “What’s wrong?” he asked in a hushed tone, his voice tinged with concern.

Clara’s lips tightened, and she shook her head. “Nothing,” she muttered, though her voice lacked its usual bite.

Dara raised an eyebrow, his gaze flicking to me for an answer. I swallowed hard, avoiding his eyes as I sat down quickly, the inevitable squish making my stomach lurch. I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from wincing, my hands clenching into fists under the table as I forced myself to act as though nothing was wrong.

Clara followed suit, her movements stiff and reluctant as she lowered herself onto the bench. Her face flushed deeply as she settled in, the faintest grimace flickering across her features before she smoothed it away. I knew exactly how she felt—the humiliation, the helplessness—but there was no escaping it. Not here. Not under Mistress’s watchful eye.

Dara’s confusion lingered, but he didn’t press the issue, instead sitting down across from us with a sigh. He seemed eager to distract himself, his tone almost casual as he broke the silence. “So... small talk, then? Or do we sit here in awkward silence?”

Clara snorted softly, her lips twitching into a faint smile despite her discomfort. “Small talk,” she said, spearing a piece of her bland meal with her fork. “Always better than silence.”

The three of us began eating, the conversation light and inconsequential. Dara asked Clara about the best scrubbing techniques, and she offered a few tips, her tone growing more animated as she spoke. I chimed in occasionally, though my mind was far from the table. The squish of my diaper beneath me was a constant, humiliating reminder of my situation, and every shift of my weight only made it worse.

Still, I forced myself to smile, to laugh at Dara’s awkward jokes and Clara’s dry humor. If nothing else, it was a momentary reprieve from the weight of everything else—the rebellion, the Winds, the kingdom. For a little while, I could almost pretend that we were just three people sharing a meal, that the world outside this dining hall didn’t exist.

But deep down, I knew the truth. This was only the calm before the storm, and soon, we would have to face it head-on. For now, though, we ate in relative peace, the fragile illusion of normalcy, a small comfort in the midst of chaos.