The Crimson Crown

After the quiet tension of lunch, the three of us made our way back to our room, the weight of Mistress’s inspections and our current reality pressing heavily on all of us. The walk was silent but purposeful, each of us lost in our thoughts as we climbed the winding stairs and slipped into the relative privacy of our quarters.

The moment the door clicked shut behind us, Clara exhaled sharply, her shoulders sagging. “Alright, let’s get this over with,” she muttered, stepping toward her bed and lying back with a resigned sigh. “Liliana, you’re up.”

I nodded, grabbing the supplies and kneeling beside her. Despite how routine this had become, I could still see the faintest hint of embarrassment flicker across Clara’s face as I untaped her diaper. She avoided my gaze as I cleaned her up; her cheeks flushed as I worked quickly and efficiently to change her into a fresh diaper. When I finished, she offered me a faint smile of thanks before sitting up and smoothing down her dress.

Then it was my turn.

“Dorian,” I said softly, glancing at him as I moved toward my bed. “Would you mind?”

His eyes softened, and for a moment, the tension in his posture seemed to ease. “Of course,” he said, his voice low and warm. He stepped forward, taking the supplies from my hands with a tenderness that made my chest ache.

I lay back on the bed, the crinkle of my diaper loud in the otherwise quiet room. Dorian’s hands were steady as he began, his touch gentle and deliberate as he worked. He didn’t say anything at first, but his expression was focused, his movements precise as he cleaned me up and prepared the fresh diaper.

Then, as he smoothed the front panel into place and began taping it securely, his eyes met mine. “You’re doing so well,” he said softly, his voice filled with a warmth that melted something inside me. “I’m so proud of you.”

The words hit me like a balm, soothing the raw edges of my soul. For a moment, the harsh reality of our situation faded away, and I wasn’t in hostile lands anymore. I wasn’t a defeated princess fighting to reclaim her kingdom. I was just Liliana, lying in the loving hands of my husband, who was doting over me as if nothing in the world could ever hurt me.

“You’re such a good girl,” he continued, his voice dropping to a whisper as he adjusted the fit of the diaper with practiced care. “So brave, so strong. You’ve always made me proud, Liliana.”

Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes, but they weren’t tears of sadness or despair. They were tears of longing, of love, of gratitude for this fleeting moment of peace. I wanted to stay here forever, wrapped in his praise, feeling like the little girl I so often became under his care—a little baby who was loved and cherished and protected from the horrors of the world.

“I... I missed this,” I whispered, my voice trembling as I fought to hold back the tears. “I missed you.”

Dorian leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to my forehead. “I’m here,” he murmured, his lips brushing against my skin. “I’m here, and I’ll always be here. We’ll get through this, Liliana. Together.”

My heart swelled, the longing and love threatening to overwhelm me. I nodded, closing my eyes as I let his words wash over me, clinging to them like a lifeline. For this brief moment, I wasn’t a princess fighting a rebellion. I wasn’t a servant scrubbing floors. I was simply his, and nothing else mattered.

As Dorian finished taping the fresh diaper snugly around my waist, his hands lingered for a moment, adjusting the fit with meticulous care. His eyes met mine, and his smile softened into something warm and reassuring.

“You’ve done so well,” he murmured, his voice laced with pride. “Wearing your diaper, using it like a good girl—exactly how you should. You’ve always been so perfect at this, Liliana.”

My cheeks flushed deeply at his words, the heat spreading down my neck. I felt my chest tighten, not with shame but with an overwhelming sense of comfort and safety. His praise was intoxicating, pulling me further away from the harshness of reality and into a place where I could simply exist under his care.

“I... I try,” I whispered, my voice trembling as I clung to the warmth of his gaze.

“And you succeed,” he said firmly, brushing a strand of hair from my face. “You always do.”

He helped me sit up, smoothing the fabric of my dress as I adjusted to the crinkle and bulk of the fresh diaper. But the moment didn’t last long, as Clara’s sharp tone cut through the warmth between us.

“Alright, lovebirds, enough of that,” she said, her arms crossed. “Dara, your turn. Let’s go.”

Dorian—or Dara—grimaced, his cheeks darkening as he glanced at the changing supplies Clara had already laid out. “I can do it myself,” he muttered, his tone defensive as he stepped back toward the bed.

“Oh, no, you don’t,” Clara shot back, her eyes narrowing. “If you mess it up, I’m the one Mistress is going to punish, and I’m not about to take a spanking because you can’t figure out how to tape a diaper properly.”

“I’m not a child,” Dorian snapped, though his protest carried little weight as Clara advanced on him.

“And yet here you are,” she countered, grabbing his arm with surprising firmness. “Now get on the bed.”

Dorian hesitated, his pride and dignity clearly warring with the practicality of Clara’s demand. But Clara wasn’t about to give him a choice. With a sharp tug, she guided him to the bed and pressed him down onto it.

“Clara—” Dorian began, his voice low and exasperated, but she cut him off with a glare.

“Unless you want Mistress to come in here and handle this herself, you’ll lie there and let me do it,” she said bluntly.

He fell silent, his expression tight with humiliation as he reluctantly complied. Clara wasted no time, lifting his dress with a practiced efficiency that rivaled her earlier work. Her hands moved quickly as she removed his soiled diaper, her face betraying none of the awkwardness or discomfort that Dorian so clearly felt.

I stood to the side, watching the exchange with a mixture of sympathy and amusement. It was rare to see Dorian so thoroughly outmatched, and the irony of the situation wasn’t lost on me. The man who had once been so commanding, who had coaxed me into my diapers with such ease, was now lying on the bed, being changed like a helpless little boy.

“There,” Clara said finally, taping the fresh diaper into place with a satisfied nod. “All done. And next time, don’t make me wrestle you for it.”

Dorian sat up quickly, smoothing his dress with stiff, jerky movements. His cheeks were still flushed, and he avoided our gazes as he muttered a quiet “Thanks.”

Clara raised an eyebrow but said nothing, stepping back to tidy up the supplies. I caught her eye briefly, and the faintest flicker of a smile passed between us. For all his protests and pride, Dorian was learning to adapt to our reality. And while it pained me to see him humbled, a small part of me couldn’t help but find the situation oddly grounding.

“Alright,” Clara said briskly, breaking the silence. “Let’s get moving.”

Dorian muttered something under his breath but stood to follow us, his movements still stiff and awkward as he adjusted to the fresh diaper beneath his dress. I reached out, brushing my hand against his arm in silent reassurance.

With fresh diapers crinkling beneath their dresses, the three of us returned to the cleaning closet. The familiar ritual of gathering buckets and sponges felt both monotonous and surreal, a stark contrast to the chaos that churned beneath the surface. My thoughts were a whirlwind as we made our way to our assigned section of the castle, but the moment we settled in, I knew I couldn’t stay. There was too much work to be done—work that went beyond scrubbing floors.

“I’ll be back,” I murmured to Clara and Dara, keeping my voice low as I stood. Clara shot me a warning glance but didn’t try to stop me, and Dara simply sighed, resigned to my routine excursions.

With my bucket in hand, I wandered through the winding halls, my eyes scanning for small groups of servants. It didn’t take long to find one—a pair of girls scrubbing a section of wall near a stairwell. I crouched beside them, offering a faint smile as I began to scrub alongside them. My usual demonstration followed, the withered flower blooming under the touch of Spring, their astonished expressions mirroring those I had seen before. But before I could move on, I felt a hand on my arm.

“You are really her, aren’t you?” a quiet but firm voice said from behind me.

I turned, startled, to find a girl standing there, her posture rigid and her expression stoic. Her piercing eyes seemed to look straight through me, and her hands rested on her hips as she regarded me with a calm intensity.

“I am,” I replied softly, meeting her gaze. “And who are you?”

“Someone who still believes in the Four Winds,” she said simply, stepping closer. Her voice was steady, unwavering as if she had already made up her mind. “My name’s Elara.”

“Elara,” I repeated, nodding. “It’s good to meet you.”

Her eyes narrowed slightly. “Is it? Because I’m not here to marvel at magic tricks or whisper about hope. I want to know what you’re going to do.”

The directness of her question caught me off guard, but I straightened, meeting her gaze with equal determination. “We’re gathering support,” I said. “The servants, the townspeople—they’re with us. When the time comes, we’ll rise together.”

“And how do you plan to take back the castle?” Elara pressed, her tone sharp but not unkind. “You’ve seen what they’ve done. The executions, the patrols, the reinforcements. The townspeople are ripe for rebellion, but they need more than whispers to fight.”

I hesitated, the weight of her words settling heavily on my shoulders. “I... we’ll find a way,” I said, though my voice lacked the confidence I wished it carried.

Elara sighed, her expression softening slightly. “There’s a way,” she said after a moment. “But it’s dangerous.”

I leaned closer, my heart pounding. “What is it?”

“The escape tunnels,” she said, her voice dropping to a whisper. “They stretch from the castle to the outer walls, a web of passages that most of the enemy doesn’t even know exists. We’ve used them for centuries in times of siege, and they’re still intact. If you can get your army through those tunnels, you can bring them straight into the heart of the castle.”

My breath caught. “The escape tunnels... I’ve heard of them, but I didn’t know they were still accessible.”

Elara nodded. “They are. But it’ll take coordination—and trust. The servants know these tunnels better than anyone. If you want to use them, you’ll need us.”

“I need all of you,” I said earnestly, my voice trembling with both hope and fear. “And if the tunnels can help us, then we’ll use them.”

Elara studied me for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Then, slowly, she nodded. “I’ll rally who I can. But you need to be ready, Liliana. When the time comes, there’s no turning back.”

“I’ll be ready,” I said, though the weight of her words settled heavily in my chest. “Thank you, Elara.”

She gave a small, almost imperceptible nod before stepping back, disappearing down the corridor with the same quiet confidence she had arrived with. I watched her go, my mind racing. The escape tunnels could be the key, the way to bring our army into the castle without alerting the enemy.

But it would take more than belief and bravery to pull it off. It would take strategy, trust, and the Winds themselves.

With my heart pounding, I made my way back to Clara and Dara, ready to share what I had learned. The rebellion was beginning to take shape, and for the first time, I felt a flicker of something I hadn’t felt in a long time: hope.

I hurried back to where Clara and Dara were scrubbing, my heart pounding with excitement and trepidation. The revelation about the escape tunnels buzzed in my mind like a spark waiting to ignite a blaze. As I approached, Clara glanced up from her work, her brows furrowing in mild irritation.

“You took your time,” she muttered, her sponge never pausing its rhythmic motion across the stone floor.

“I found someone,” I said, dropping to my knees beside her and dipping my sponge into the bucket. My hands moved automatically as I began scrubbing, the bubbling energy inside me threatening to spill over. “Elara. She’s one of us—one of the servants. And she told me something incredible.”

Dara, scrubbing on Clara’s other side, paused, his movements faltering as he looked up at me. His disguised face reflected both curiosity and caution. “What did she say?” he asked, his voice low and measured.

I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself as I spoke. “She told me about the escape tunnels. They’re still intact, Dara. They stretch from the castle to the outer walls, hidden and mostly forgotten.”

Clara froze, her sponge halfway across the floor as she turned to me. “Escape tunnels?” she echoed, her voice tinged with disbelief. “You mean the ones we’ve all heard about in stories? Those still exist?”

Dara’s expression was more guarded, his eyes narrowing slightly as he set his sponge aside. “I know of the tunnels,” he said carefully. “But I thought they’d been destroyed years ago. They were supposed to be sealed off after the last siege to prevent anyone from using them against us.”

“Elara said they’re still there,” I pressed, my voice insistent. “She said the servants know them better than anyone. If we can rally them, we can use the tunnels to bring our army into the heart of the castle.”

Dara leaned back on his heels, his face clouded with thought. “It’s risky,” he said after a moment. “The tunnels are supposed to be narrow and dangerous. If the enemy discovers us, we’d be trapped with no way out.”

“Better than letting them starve our people or slaughter them in the streets,” Clara interjected, her tone sharper than usual. “If the tunnels give us a chance, even a small one, we have to take it.”

I nodded, my heart racing as I met Dara’s gaze. “It’s our best shot,” I said firmly. “And it’s not just about the tunnels. The servants are ready to rise, Dara. They just need a spark, a reason to believe that we can win this.”

Dara’s expression softened slightly, the weight of our situation reflected in his eyes. “If the tunnels are still usable, it could work,” he admitted, though his tone remained cautious. “But we’ll need a plan. A way to coordinate the attack and ensure the army reaches the castle without being detected.”

“We’ll figure it out,” I said, determination hardening my voice. “We have to.”

Clara sighed, her gaze flicking between us before she returned to her scrubbing. “Well, it’s not going to happen if we just sit around talking,” she said. “Keep scrubbing. We’ll need every excuse to stay unnoticed while we put this plan together.”

Dara chuckled softly, the sound tinged with both amusement and resignation. “You’re not wrong.”

The three of us resumed our work, the weight of what lay ahead settling heavily on our shoulders. The escape tunnels were a glimmer of hope, a chance to turn the tide and reclaim our kingdom. But it was a fragile hope, and the path forward was fraught with danger. As we scrubbed, my mind raced with ideas, strategies, and possibilities. The rebellion was no longer just a dream—it was becoming a reality. And I would do whatever it took to see it through.