The Crimson Crown

As we approached the door, I could feel the weight of its presence pressing down on us. It was plain, unadorned, and oddly out of place amid the grandeur of the castle’s hallways. My heart sank when I saw it—no handle, no lock, no visible means of entry. Just a heavy slab of wood fitted perfectly into the stone frame as though it were part of the castle itself.

Dorian stepped forward first, his hands running over the surface of the door. He pressed his shoulder against it, pushing with all his strength, but it didn’t budge. “It’s sealed,” he muttered, frustration seeping into his voice.

Clara frowned, stepping closer and inspecting the edges of the door. “There’s no latch, no seam,” she said, her tone baffled. “How is anyone supposed to open this?”

I reached out, my fingers brushing against the rough wood. A faint hum vibrated beneath my palm, sending a shiver up my arm. This door wasn’t ordinary—there was something alive about it, something that resonated with the Winds themselves. I pulled my hand back, my mind racing.

“It’s not meant to open easily,” I said softly, my voice tinged with awe. “It’s protecting something—something powerful.”

Dorian turned to me, his brow furrowed. “Do you think... the Winds could open it?”

I hesitated, the weight of his question settling heavily in my chest. “Maybe,” I admitted. “But if that’s true, it means the door is waiting for something—or someone.”

“Someone like you,” Clara said, her voice blunt but filled with a quiet certainty.

The thought sent a chill through me. If the Winds were testing me, it meant I wasn’t ready yet—or at least, not strong enough. Not yet.

Dorian sighed, stepping back from the door and shaking his head. “We can’t force it,” he said reluctantly. “And staying here too long will only draw attention.”

My shoulders slumped, disappointment weighing me down as I nodded. He was right. As much as I wanted to storm the Hall of Relics and claim the artifacts we so desperately needed, we weren’t ready. Not yet.

“We’ll come back,” I said firmly, though the words felt hollow. “When the time is right.”

Clara placed a hand on my shoulder, her touch steadying. “For now, we do what we can,” she said. “Let’s go.”

Reluctantly, we turned away from the door and made our way back down the hall, the faint hum of the sealed entrance lingering in my mind. The walk back to the East Wing was heavy with silence, each of us lost in our thoughts.

When we reached our section of the castle, we retrieved our buckets and sponges, settling into the familiar rhythm of scrubbing the floors. The work was monotonous, almost mind-numbing, but it gave me time to think. As my hands moved mechanically, my mind churned with questions. What would it take to open the door? What was the Winds’ test? And, most pressing of all, would I be ready when the time came?

The rhythmic sound of brushes against stone filled the corridor, a steady, monotonous backdrop to the quiet tension that hung in the air. None of us spoke, our focus divided between the task at hand and the thoughts swirling in our minds. My knees ached from the hard floor, my fingers stung from the soapy water, but I kept working, my hands moving automatically as my mind wandered.

A familiar pressure began to build in my bladder, and I sighed softly, closing my eyes for a brief moment as I allowed myself to relax. The warmth spread through my diaper, the padding swelling gently against my skin. The sensation was both humiliating and oddly comforting, a strange duality I had come to accept. The faint crinkle that followed as I shifted my weight sent a flush of embarrassment to my cheeks, but my brush never paused.

As I worked, my thoughts began to drift forward, imagining a day when this servitude would be behind me—when I would no longer scrub floors or bow to Mistress’s degrading inspections. I pictured the throne room restored to its former glory, the banners of the Four Winds flying proudly once more. I imagined myself seated on the throne, Dorian at my side, the weight of the crown resting on my brow.

The thought should have filled me with pride and resolve, but instead, it stirred something deeper, more personal. My mind betrayed me, conjuring images of Dorian’s gentle smile, his hands steady and reassuring as he changed me each morning. His voice, warm and filled with affection, whispered praises in my ear—praises that, despite my humiliation, had brought me comfort.

I bit my lip, my brush slowing as the memory lingered. Would his praise fade once the diapers were gone? Would the tender moments we shared, born of this strange and humiliating circumstance, disappear as we reclaimed our roles as king and queen?

The thought unsettled me, twisting in my chest like a knot. I wanted to cast off the diapers, to stand strong and proud as a ruler. But at the same time, a part of me clung to the intimacy they had brought, the way they had drawn Dorian and me closer in the darkest of times.

The sound of Clara clearing her throat snapped me back to the present. I blinked, realizing my brush had stilled, and quickly resumed scrubbing. As the silence stretched on, the weight of my thoughts settled heavily on my shoulders. There was so much to do, so much at stake. But amidst it all, the question lingered at the back of my mind: When the time came, would I be ready to let go of the very thing that had brought me closer to Dorian, even as it humbled me to my core?

The morning dragged on in its monotonous rhythm, brushes against stone and the faint slosh of water filling the air. By the time lunch approached, my knees ached, and my back protested every movement. As we finished the last stretch of the hall, Clara let out a quiet groan, pushing herself to her feet.

“We’re done here,” she muttered, stretching her arms above her head. “Finally.”

Dorian and I followed suit, my muscles screaming in protest as I rose. The three of us gathered our buckets and sponges, returning them to the cleaning closet with weary movements. I could feel the soreness settling into every part of me, a dull reminder of the morning’s labor.

But there was no reprieve yet. We all knew what came next.

“Let’s get this over with,” Clara muttered as we turned toward Mistress’s office, her tone resigned. I swallowed hard, my stomach twisting with nerves as we approached.

Mistress greeted us with her usual air of authority, her sharp gaze sweeping over us as we lined up before her. “Let’s see how my girls have fared today,” she said, her tone dripping with condescension.

One by one, she lifted our dresses, her hands patting the fronts and backs of our diapers with methodical precision. I bit my lip, my cheeks burning as she inspected me, the familiar humiliation settling over me like a heavy cloak.

When she reached Dorian, her hand paused, her sharp eyes narrowing as she looked him over. “Still clean,” she said, her voice carrying an edge of disapproval. “And not in the way I want.”

Dorian tensed, his jaw tightening as she stepped back, her arms crossing over her chest. “You’ve been obedient enough,” she continued, her tone icy, “but I expect full compliance from all of my girls. That means by the end of the day, you will have used your diaper properly. Am I clear?”

“Yes, Mistress,” Dorian muttered, his voice low but steady.

Mistress’s eyes lingered on him for a moment longer before she nodded, a satisfied smirk curling her lips. “Good,” she said simply. “Now, go. I’ll see you all again this evening.”

We turned and left her office, the weight of her warning pressing heavily on all of us. As we walked toward the dining hall, I glanced at Dorian, his expression unreadable. Clara, however, didn’t hold back.

“She’s not going to let up on you,” Clara said bluntly, her voice low but firm. “You know that, right?”

“I know,” Dorian replied, his tone clipped. “I’ll... figure it out.”

Clara shook her head but didn’t press further, and we continued in silence. The humiliation of Mistress’s inspections lingered, a bitter reminder of how far we’d fallen. But even as we trudged toward lunch, a flicker of determination stirred within me. We wouldn’t be in this position forever. We couldn’t be. For now, though, we had to endure.

As we stepped into the dining hall, the air shifted immediately. The faint buzz of conversation quieted, and heads turned toward us. A hush fell over the room, the servant girls rising to their feet almost in unison. Their curtsies were deep and deliberate, their gazes filled with quiet reverence as they looked at me.

The gesture was no longer one of simple respect—it was a pledge, silent but unmistakable. My heart swelled with a mixture of pride and trepidation, the weight of their trust pressing heavily on my shoulders.

A young girl hurried forward, her steps quick but graceful as she set our usual table with care. She glanced at me briefly, her eyes alight with something that sent a shiver down my spine. Hope. Determination. Readiness.

As we took our seats, the whispers began, faint and fragmented but carrying an undercurrent of anticipation. I could feel it, the energy in the room crackling like a storm waiting to break. This was no longer just a group of beaten-down servants. This was a power keg, brimming with potential, waiting for a single spark.

And I was that spark.

As we settled in, our food placed before us, a familiar figure joined us. The girl who had told me about the tunnels pulled out a chair and sat with a quiet but purposeful air. Her presence alone drew attention, several nearby servants glancing her way with curious expressions.

“I’ve started preparing them,” she said softly, her voice low enough that only the three of us could hear. “Telling them about the tunnels, what they’ll need to do to open them. It’s spreading faster than I expected. They’re ready to move when you give the word.”

My chest tightened the enormity of what we were planning, hitting me all at once. “The tunnels,” I murmured, glancing around to ensure no one else could overhear. “Do they lead directly into the heart of the castle?”

She nodded. “Several of them do. They’re old, but they’re still intact. With enough hands, we can clear them and get the army inside without the guards noticing until it’s too late.”

Dorian leaned forward, his expression serious. “And the servants? Are they prepared for what this will mean? Fighting, chaos—people will get hurt.”

The girl met his gaze, her expression unflinching. “They know the risks. We’ve all lost something to this invasion—family, friends, homes. They’re willing to fight for a chance to take it back.”

Clara let out a low whistle, her eyes darting between us. “This is really happening, isn’t it?” she said, her voice a mix of awe and anxiety. “We’re doing this.”

I nodded, my resolve hardening. “Yes,” I said firmly. “We’re doing this. But we have to be smart about it. The tunnels are our way in, but we’ll need more than that. We need a signal, something to let the army know the Winds are on our side.”

The girl’s eyes gleamed with understanding. “Then it’s time,” she said. “Time for you to show them who you really are.”

The weight of her words settled over me like a mantle, heavy but undeniable. The energy in the room, the murmurs of readiness—they were all waiting for me to take the lead, to light the spark that would set everything in motion.

I glanced at Dorian and Clara, their expressions mirroring my mix of determination and trepidation. “We’ll finish lunch,” I said quietly. “Then we’ll start preparing. It’s time to reclaim what’s ours.”

The girl nodded, a small smile playing on her lips as she leaned back in her chair. Around us, the whispers continued, and the atmosphere charged with anticipation. The moment was coming, and the castle would never be the same.

I glanced at Dorian and Clara, their expressions steady as they awaited my decision. The weight of the moment pressed down on me, but beneath the pressure was a flicker of resolve. This was it—the time to act had come.

I turned to the girl, meeting her gaze. “We can’t wait any longer,” I said firmly, keeping my voice low. “It’s time to make our move.”

She nodded, her eyes alight with understanding. “What do you need us to do?”

I took a deep breath, gathering my thoughts. “Gather the ready servants. Quietly, without drawing attention. Spread the word that as the last light of the setting sun crests the horizon, they are to head into the tunnels. Work quickly and carefully to clear them and open the way for the army.”

The girl leaned in, hanging on my every word. “And what about the guards?” she asked.

“Leave them to us,” I said, my tone resolute. “We’ll create a distraction to draw their attention away from the tunnels. They won’t see what’s coming until it’s too late.”

Dorian’s hand brushed against mine under the table, a silent show of support. “The army will need a signal,” he reminded me. “Something unmistakable.”

I nodded, already thinking of the horn we’d discussed, hidden within the Heart of the Winds. “When the tunnels are open, I’ll sound the horn,” I said. “The Winds will carry its call, and our army will know the time has come.”

The girl’s lips pressed into a determined line. “I’ll make sure everyone knows what to do,” she said. “We won’t let you down.”

I placed a hand on her arm, offering a faint smile. “I know you won’t,” I said sincerely. “But we must be cautious. One misstep, one loose word, and the plan could fall apart. You must be vigilant.”

She nodded once more, her resolve clear. Rising from her seat, she glanced around the hall before slipping away, disappearing into the quiet hum of the dining room.

I turned back to Clara and Dorian, my heart racing as the gravity of what we’d just set into motion settled over me. “This is it,” I said softly. “Tonight, everything changes.”

Clara exhaled sharply, her fingers drumming against the edge of the table. “We’ll be ready,” she said, her voice steady despite the tension in her expression. “We’ve come too far to fail now.”

Dorian’s hand found mine again, his grip firm and reassuring. “Together,” he said simply, his eyes meeting mine with unwavering confidence. “We’ll see this through.”

The rest of the meal passed in a blur, my thoughts racing as I considered every detail, every possible contingency. As the murmurs of the dining hall ebbed and flowed around us, one thing became crystal clear.

By the time the sun set, the castle would be on the brink of a new dawn—one forged by the courage and unity of those who refused to be broken.