The Crimson Crown

Lunch passed in a blur of whispers and anticipation, the weight of our plan pressing heavily on all of us. As we left the dining hall, our steps quickened, driven by the urgency of what lay ahead. The corridors seemed quieter than usual, the castle’s oppressive atmosphere a stark contrast to the crackling energy brewing among the servants.

When we reached our room, Clara immediately set to work pulling out the changing supplies. “First things first,” she said briskly, her hands moving with practiced efficiency. “We can’t afford distractions later.”

I nodded, stepping forward and lying down on the bed. The routine had become familiar, almost second nature, but the lingering humiliation still pricked at my pride. Clara worked quickly, her hands gentle but firm as she changed me into a fresh diaper, securing it snugly before helping me up.

“Your turn,” she said, glancing at Dorian, who hesitated for a fraction of a second before lying down on the bed.

Despite his reluctance, Dorian let Clara change him without protest, his cheeks flushing as she worked. The sight was bittersweet—a reminder of how far we’d all fallen but also of the strange camaraderie that had grown between us in the face of shared adversity.

Once Dorian was done, I motioned for Clara to take her place. “Your turn,” I said softly, offering a faint smile to ease the tension.

Clara rolled her eyes but complied, lying back and letting me take over. As I changed her, the room fell into a companionable silence, each of us lost in our thoughts. The weight of the afternoon and the coming night loomed large, but for now, the simplicity of the task grounded us.

With all three of us freshly changed, we stood and began gathering our things for the next shift. The familiar crinkle of our diapers accompanied every movement, a quiet but constant reminder of the strange reality we were navigating.

“Ready?” Clara asked, her voice steady despite the tension in her posture.

I nodded, glancing at Dorian, who adjusted his servant’s dress with a faint grimace. “Let’s go,” I said firmly, my resolve hardening. The next phase of our plan was about to begin, and there was no turning back.

The three of us moved with purpose, our buckets and sponges in hand, as we made our way back toward the corridor with the sealed door to the Room of Relics. The castle’s oppressive silence pressed down on us, but there was a shared understanding in the glances we exchanged. We were taking a calculated risk, but it was a necessary one.

The corridor was quiet, the faint echo of our footsteps the only sound as we approached. The guards patrolling near the door glanced our way but quickly dismissed us, their disinterest a blessing. After all, what threat could three servant girls pose?

“This floor doesn’t even need cleaning,” Clara muttered under her breath as we set down our buckets. “But I guess that’s the point.”

“Exactly,” I replied softly, dipping my sponge into the soapy water. “No one will question why we’re here if we look busy. And by the time they realize something’s off, it’ll be too late.”

Dorian crouched beside me, his movements deliberate as he began scrubbing the floor. “Let’s just hope no one gets curious before tonight,” he murmured, his voice tinged with unease.

The three of us fell into a rhythm, the sound of brushes against stone filling the corridor. My mind buzzed with thoughts of what lay ahead, the weight of our plan pressing heavily on my shoulders. Each stroke of my sponge felt like a step closer to the moment of truth—a moment that could change everything.

Now and then, I glanced toward the door, its plain surface a stark reminder of the challenges ahead. The faint hum of energy I’d felt earlier seemed stronger now, almost as if the room beyond was waiting for us, testing our resolve.

Clara broke the silence, her voice low but steady. “Do you really think it’ll work? The tunnels, the servants, the relics—it feels like so much has to fall into place.”

“It will work,” I said firmly, though the knot in my stomach betrayed my doubts. “It has to. The Winds are on our side. I can feel it.”

Dorian glanced at me, his expression serious. “Then we’ll make it work,” he said quietly. “Whatever it takes.”

The hours stretched on as we scrubbed, our movements mechanical but purposeful. The guards paid us little mind, their conversations drifting faintly down the corridor but never approaching. It was a delicate balance—appearing dutiful while keeping our true intentions hidden.

As the hours ticked by, I found myself stealing glances out the nearest window, the golden light of the setting sun casting long shadows across the stone floor. The anticipation bubbled inside me, growing stronger with each passing moment. This was it. Everything we’d worked for, every risk we’d taken, was about to culminate in the next few hours.

My focus flickered, the ache in my bladder breaking through my thoughts. I hesitated, glancing toward Clara and Dorian to ensure they weren’t watching, before relaxing. The familiar warmth spread through my diaper, the padding swelling comfortably against me. The sensation, as humiliating as it was, had become almost routine. I shifted slightly, adjusting to the newfound thickness between my legs, before turning my attention back to the task at hand.

The sun dipped lower, its light deepening to a rich amber. My heart pounded in my chest as I watched it hover just above the horizon. The guards patrolling nearby had just made their rounds, their footsteps fading into the distance. It was now or never.

I straightened, setting my sponge aside and brushing my damp hands against my apron. “It’s time,” I said, my voice low but persistent.

Clara looked up sharply, her brow furrowing. “You’re sure?”

“They just passed,” I said, nodding toward the corridor. “We’ve got a small window before they come back. If we’re going to do this, it has to be now.”

Dorian stood, his movements brisk and purposeful as he set his cleaning supplies aside. “Then let’s not waste any more time,” he said, his tone steady despite the tension in his posture.

The three of us approached the door, the weight of its presence palpable. My fingers brushed against the wood, the faint hum of energy sparking beneath my touch. I closed my eyes, taking a deep breath as I focused inward, calling on the Winds that had guided me this far.

“Stand back,” I murmured, my voice barely above a whisper. Clara and Dorian stepped away, their eyes fixed on me as I placed both hands against the door. The hum intensified, a pulse of power that seemed to resonate with the very air around us.

The Winds stirred within me, a familiar warmth blossoming in my chest as I channeled their strength. I focused on the Wind of Summer, its vibrant energy flowing through me like a raging fire. My muscles tensed, my fingers pressing firmly against the wood.

“Come on,” I whispered, my voice filled with urgency. “Open.”

The hum grew louder, the air around us crackling with energy. The door seemed to resist for a moment, as though testing my resolve before a faint click echoed through the corridor. The resistance gave way, the door shifting slightly under my hands.

“It’s working,” Clara whispered, her voice filled with awe.

I pushed harder, the door creaking open to reveal a dark, yawning chamber beyond. The air was heavy with age and mystery, the faint glow of enchanted light casting long shadows across the room’s contents.

Dorian stepped forward, his eyes wide as he took in the sight. “The relics,” he murmured, his voice filled with wonder.

I turned to Clara, my chest tight with a mix of fear and determination. “We don’t have much time,” I said. “Let’s find what we need—and then we end this.”

The room was eerily silent as we stepped inside, the air heavy with a sense of forgotten history. A faint, musty scent filled my nose, and the dim glow of enchanted sconces on the walls cast flickering shadows over the room’s contents. Shelves lined the walls, packed with ancient artifacts, their surfaces coated in a thin layer of undisturbed dust. It was as though no one had set foot here for years, maybe centuries.

Clara moved cautiously to one side of the room, her fingers brushing against a dusty scroll. “This place feels… alive,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. “Like it’s watching us.”

I nodded, my heart pounding as I scanned the room. Weapons, relics, and trinkets of all shapes and sizes were scattered across tables and shelves, each one humming faintly with latent power. But we didn’t have time to marvel—we needed something that could turn the tide in our favor.

“Look for anything tied to the Winds,” I said, my voice low but urgent. “Something we can use to rally our people, to fight back.”

Dorian moved to the far end of the room, his eyes scanning the artifacts with purpose. I could see the tension in his shoulders, the weight of our task pressing heavily on him. Clara sifted through a chest of items nearby, lifting objects and setting them aside with a furrowed brow.

Then, Dorian froze, his hand hovering over an object resting on a pedestal. “Liliana,” he called, his voice filled with a mix of awe and excitement. “Come here.”

I hurried to his side, my breath catching as I saw what he had found. Resting on the pedestal was a horn, its polished surface etched with intricate designs of swirling winds and summer flames. Despite the dust covering everything else in the room, the horn was pristine, its golden sheen glowing faintly in the dim light.

“This is it,” Dorian said, his voice reverent. “The Horn of Summer.”

I reached out tentatively, my fingers brushing against the cool surface of the horn. A pulse of energy shot through me, warm and vibrant, like the sun’s rays breaking through a storm. “What does it do?” I asked, my voice barely audible.

“It’s said to fill those who hear its call with the strength of Summer,” Dorian explained, his eyes locked on the artifact. “Courage, vitality, and power—it rallies followers and inspires them to fight with everything they have.”

Clara stepped closer, her eyes wide as she took in the horn. “That’s what we need,” she said firmly. “If the servants hear it, if the army hears it, they’ll know the Winds are with them.”

I nodded, my resolve hardening as I wrapped my fingers around the horn. It felt alive in my hands, humming with a quiet power that seemed to echo my determination. “This is how we turn the tide,” I said, my voice steady. “This is how we take our kingdom back.”

Dorian placed a hand on my shoulder, his grip firm and reassuring. “Then let’s make it count,” he said.

I met his gaze, a spark of hope igniting in my chest. The relic in my hands was more than just a tool—it was a symbol of what we were fighting for. And when the time came, its call would ignite a fire in our people that no invader could extinguish.

The horn felt heavier than it should as I tucked it beneath my apron, its presence a quiet but constant reminder of the task ahead. The room of relics fell silent behind us as I pulled the door closed, its secrets once again hidden from the world. My heart pounded as I turned to Dorian and Clara, the fading light of the setting sun casting long shadows through the narrow corridor.

“We don’t have much time,” I said, my voice steady despite the nervous energy buzzing through me. “The servants are already moving. If we’re going to rally the city, they need to hear the horn.”

Clara nodded, her expression resolute. “Then we head for the spire.”

Dorian’s hand brushed against mine, a silent reassurance as he fell into step beside me. “Stay close,” he murmured. “The patrols will be on edge.”

The castle felt different as we made our way through its labyrinthine halls, the usual hum of activity replaced by an eerie stillness. No servants scrubbed the floors or hurried to their next task. The absence was as loud as a battle cry, a clear sign that the rebellion was already stirring beneath the surface.

We kept low, ducking into alcoves and behind tapestries whenever the sound of boots echoed in the distance. The patrols were sparse, but each encounter sent a fresh wave of tension rippling through me. The horn beneath my apron felt like it might burn through the fabric, its weight pressing against my ribs with every step.

As we climbed higher, the air grew cooler, the dimming light of the sun casting the halls in hues of gold and crimson. My breath came in shallow bursts, the anticipation building with each flight of stairs. Clara’s footsteps were soft but sure beside me, her presence a steadying force. Dorian, ever vigilant, kept glancing behind us, his sharp eyes scanning for any sign of pursuit.

We reached the base of the spire just as the last sliver of sunlight dipped below the horizon. The narrow stairwell loomed before us, its spiral disappearing into the shadows above. My chest tightened as I stared up at it, the enormity of what lay ahead pressing heavily on me.

“This is it,” I said softly, turning to Clara and Dorian. “Once we sound the horn, there’s no going back.”

Dorian’s hand found mine, his grip firm and reassuring. “We’re with you,” he said, his voice steady. “All the way.”

Clara nodded, a faint smile tugging at her lips despite the tension in her eyes. “Let’s make it count.”

With a deep breath, I took the first step, the ancient stone cool beneath my feet. The climb was steep, each twist of the stairwell bringing us closer to the peak. My muscles burned with the effort, but I pushed forward, the horn’s presence spurring me on.

At last, we reached the top of the spire, stepping out onto the open platform. I froze, my breath catching as the sight before me stole every thought from my mind. It was like stepping into another world, one both familiar and utterly changed.

The town below stretched out in a tapestry of light and shadow, its streets glowing faintly with the warm flicker of fires and lanterns. From this height, the castle’s majesty was undeniable, its towering spires casting long shadows over the city it had once ruled with grace. But the glow of the town was marred, a smoldering unease simmering in the air.

Beyond the city walls, the blackness stretched out like a dark sea, stark and unbroken save for the faint glimmers of the Four Winds army. Encircling the city, their campfires dotted the horizon like distant stars, their light, resolute defiance against the occupying force. The space between—the no man’s land separating invader and savior—was a gaping void, a silent, deadly expanse poised on the brink of battle.

I shivered, not from the cold but from the sheer weight of the moment. This was my kingdom, fractured but unbowed. The streets and rooftops, the walls and spires—they were mine to protect, mine to reclaim. And beyond those walls, an army waited, ready to fight for the Winds and for the legacy my family had built.

Dorian stepped beside me, his gaze sweeping over the scene. His jaw tightened, a quiet determination settling in his features. “They’re waiting for us,” he said softly, his voice barely audible over the distant hum of the town.

I nodded, clutching the horn tightly in my hands. “The servants,” I murmured, my eyes scanning the town below. “The army… they’re ready.”

Clara joined us, her breath visible in the cool night air. “This is it,” she said, her voice steady despite the tension in her posture. “The moment we’ve been waiting for.”

I stepped forward, the wind tugging at my hair and dress as I gazed out over the city. The glow of the lanterns below seemed to pulse in time with my heartbeat, the Winds swirling around me in a quiet but powerful presence.

This was my kingdom, my people. And tonight, we would take it back.

Lifting the horn, I let the weight of the moment wash over me, the determination in my chest burning brighter than the fires below. The Winds were with us, their strength filling me as I raised the horn to my lips.

The time had come.