The Crimson Crown

The weight of the moment pressed down on me as I stood at the edge of the platform, the sea of faces below an unspoken plea for hope. Dorian stepped close, his voice low and steady, a grounding force. “Call upon the Winds, Liliana. Let them carry your words to every ear. You are their Queen—make them feel it.”

I nodded, closing my eyes for a brief moment as I reached deep within, calling upon the Winds. They answered, swirling around me with a force that filled my chest and set my voice alight. When I spoke, the Winds carried each word, weaving through the square, touching every corner of the crowd.

“My people!” I began, my voice ringing out clear and powerful. The sheer strength of it startled even me, but I pressed on, the Winds surging with my conviction. “These past weeks, our kingdom has faced darkness unlike any we have ever known. An enemy sought to crush us, to bend us, to enslave us. But they underestimated the strength of the Four Winds!”

The crowd stirred, a low murmur rippling through them. I raised my hand, commanding silence, and the Winds obeyed, swirling tighter around me.

“Our King and Queen, my beloved parents, gave their lives to keep this kingdom alive. Their sacrifice was not in vain! Because of their courage, because of your strength, we stand here today—not as a broken people, but as one united!”

The murmurs grew into shouts of approval, faces in the crowd lighting up with hope. I felt Dorian’s reassuring presence beside me, and with a glance, I saw his silent encouragement. His strength bolstered my own, and I continued.

“We drove the enemy from our lands—back to the wastelands they call home. But this victory is not the end. The Four Winds Kingdom will rise from these ashes, stronger and more united than ever before. We will ensure they never return. Never again will we kneel to their tyranny!”

The crowd's roar was deafening now, with cheers and cries of determination erupting from the square like a thunderstorm. The Winds swirled triumphantly around me, amplifying their voices as they chanted in unison: “Four Winds! Four Winds!”

I stepped back, Dorian’s hand steadying me as the fervor of the crowd surged like a tidal wave. Together, we turned, retreating into the castle’s stone corridors, the roar of the people echoing behind us, shaking the very walls with their fervor.

I exhaled inside, away from the crowd’s gaze. The Winds dissipated gently, leaving me drained but alive with purpose. Dorian’s hand found mine, his grip firm and reassuring.

“You were incredible,” he said, his voice low, filled with pride. “They believe in you.”

I smiled faintly, my heart still pounding. “They believe in us,” I corrected, squeezing his hand. The roar of the crowd outside continued their energy a beacon of hope for the battles yet to come.

As the echoes of the crowd’s thunderous cheers reverberated through the castle walls, I felt a sudden lightness in my head, a swirl of dizziness that had me gripping Dorian’s arm for balance. His strong hand steadied me instantly, his brow furrowing with concern as he turned to face me.

“Liliana?” he asked softly, his voice grounding me. “Are you alright?”

I nodded weakly, my other hand clutching my stomach as I took a slow breath. “I’m fine,” I managed, though the growing ache in my abdomen told a different story. The exertion of channeling the Winds had taken more out of me than I realized, and now, to my dismay, another need made itself known.

A deep, familiar cramp settled in my belly, and my cheeks flushed hot as I realized what was coming. No. Not now. Only after some things. Surely, with everything going on, I could excuse myself from...that part of tradition, couldn’t I?

I shifted uncomfortably, Dorian’s gaze still fixed on me with concern. “Do you need to sit down?” he asked, his voice gentle. “You’ve been through a lot.”

I shook my head quickly, my mortification growing. “No, I—” I stopped, my words catching as I glanced away.

Clara, standing nearby, tilted her head, her sharp eyes narrowing slightly. “Something wrong, Your Grace?” she asked, her tone tinged with suspicion though her expression was neutral.

The very idea of telling them—especially after last night—sent a wave of humiliation washing over me. Dorian’s praise still lingered in my mind, warm and comforting, but surely even he wouldn’t expect me to—

No. No, I couldn’t. Not now.

“I just... I need a moment,” I said, pulling my hand from Dorian’s and straightening up. My voice wavered, but I forced myself to sound resolute. “I’ll meet you both in the sitting room shortly.”

Clara exchanged a glance with Dorian, but he nodded slowly. “Alright,” he said, though I could hear the doubt in his voice. “We’ll wait for you.”

I turned and made my way toward the private washroom, each step a battle to keep my composure as my stomach churned with insistence. Tradition or not, I could make this one exception. Right?

Closing the door behind me, I let out a shaky breath, my resolve wavering as I debated what to do. Even in my embarrassment, the echoes of Dorian’s praise last night flitted through my mind, his gentle words of encouragement and acceptance. Tradition could be bent, yes, but was it what he’d want? Was it what I wanted?

As I stared at the washroom, I found myself frozen, torn between humiliation and expectation, unsure which way to turn.

I had barely made it to the washroom, my heart pounding with both urgency and nervousness, when I finally tugged my dress up and began fumbling with the tabs of my diaper. I was NOT going to poop myself, not this time. My cheeks burned as I hesitated, the sound of the sticky tab peeling away filling the quiet space. Just one more, I thought, my stomach cramping insistently.

Before I could finish, the door suddenly creaked open. I froze, mortified, as Clara stepped in, her eyes widening in surprise as she took in the scene before her.

“What are you doing?” she whispered sharply, quickly shutting the door behind her. Her gaze flicked to my hands, still poised on the tab, and her brows furrowed.

“I—” I stammered, my words catching in my throat as I dropped my hands to my sides, my dress still bunched up around my waist. “I was just...”

“Trying to take off your diaper,” she finished for me, her tone a mix of exasperation and disbelief. “Liliana, seriously?”

I looked away, my cheeks blazing with shame. “I’m the Queen,” I muttered defensively. “I should be able to do what I want.”

Clara’s lips thinned, her hands settling on her hips as she fixed me with a stern look. “And you’re supposed to set an example,” she said, her voice firm but not unkind. “What happened to all that resolve you had when we were servants? Keeping your head down, doing what needed to be done to get through the day?”

“That was different,” I protested, my voice weak even to my ears. “We were—”

“No,” Clara interrupted, stepping closer. “It’s not different. You still have a game to play, Liliana. A role to fill. The people—the ones who stayed loyal to the throne—expect this from you. And more importantly, Dorian expects it.”

I flinched at her words, the mention of Dorian sending a fresh wave of shame crashing over me. “But it’s humiliating,” I whispered, my voice cracking. “Why does it have to be like this?”

Clara softened slightly, her hands falling to her sides as she sighed. “I know it’s humiliating,” she said quietly. “But we’ve both done humiliating things to survive. And this... this is just another part of it. You’re stronger than this, Liliana. You’ve proven that.”

I didn’t answer, biting my lip as my eyes stung with unshed tears. Clara stepped forward, her fingers pulling the tabs back into place before gently pulling my dress back down over my diaper and smoothing the fabric.

“You’ll get through this,” she said, her tone softening further. “And when the time is right, you can change things. But for now, you have to play the game.” “Now,” she said, her hands on her hips once more. “Do the right thing. Use it, get it over with, and let’s move on.”

I stared at her for a long moment, my heart sinking as her words settled over me. As much as I hated to admit it, she was right. Reluctantly, I nodded, my hands trembling slightly as I smoothed my dress and resigned myself to the inevitable.

Standing in the quiet washroom, Clara's firm but understanding words still ringing in my ears, I felt another sharp cramp ripple through my stomach. My body tensed instinctively, and my cheeks flushed as I realized there was no use fighting it anymore. This was happening, whether I liked it or not.

I shifted my weight slightly, the snug padding of my diaper pressing softly against me as I prepared myself. The tension in my stomach built steadily, the sensation overwhelming as I gave in, letting my body do what it had been urging me to do.

There was a brief, almost surreal moment of resistance as I pushed. The warmth spread instantly as I felt myself filling the seat of my diaper. The thick padding cradled me, expanding slightly to accommodate the mess. It wasn’t fast; it happened slowly, deliberately, every movement accentuated by the growing heat and pressure in my diaper.

The weight settled almost immediately, the bulk of the diaper pressing against me in a way that was impossible to ignore. The act itself was mortifying, but there was also a strange sense of relief as the cramping faded, leaving behind only the shame of what I’d just done. I felt the mess pressing into me, spreading up and between my legs as I let out a soft grunt, my legs bowed slightly as I hunched over.

My cheeks burned with shame as I felt the diaper bulging to accommodate my mess. I grimaced in humiliation as I felt the weight settling into my diaper; it hadn’t expanded as much as I hoped, meaning my mess was even more squished.

Clara stood nearby, her expression unreadable but her gaze steady as she watched me. I couldn’t bring myself to look at her directly, my cheeks blazing as I adjusted my stance. The warm, sticky weight shifted uncomfortably with the movement.

“Well,” she said after a moment, her tone more matter-of-fact than teasing. “That’s done.”

I bit my lip, my eyes stinging with tears of humiliation as I whispered, “I hate this.”

Clara stepped closer, her voice softer now. “I know you do,” she said gently. “But you handled it. That’s what matters.”

I nodded weakly, my face still burning as I shifted again, the unpleasant squish a constant reminder of my humiliation. Yet, deep down, I knew Clara was right. I’d made it through, no matter how degrading it felt. And as awful as it was, it was just another step in playing the game—one I couldn’t afford to lose.

Clara’s warm smile disarmed me as she stepped closer. Her presence was steady and reassuring as it had always been, but there was something different about her expression—something softer but also knowing.

“I had a long talk with Dorian while you were asleep,” she began, her tone calm and measured. I blinked, my face heating instantly as I tried to imagine what on earth they’d discussed. “He... helped me see things in a different light.”

My heart skipped a beat. “What do you mean?” I asked cautiously, the memory of Dorian’s praise and his gentle, guiding words flashing vividly in my mind. The intimacy we had shared in the darkest moments of our captivity resurfaced, making my cheeks burn brighter. How much had Dorian told her?

Clara’s smile widened slightly, almost teasing, as she continued. “I know this... treatment isn’t exactly something you enjoy,” she said, her voice laced with both understanding and a hint of amusement. “But he mentioned that, before everything happened, you weren’t so opposed to it.”

My blush deepened, my stomach churning with a mix of embarrassment and defensiveness. I opened my mouth to protest, but the words caught in my throat. She wasn’t wrong. There had been moments—private, fleeting moments—where I had found a strange comfort in Dorian’s care. In his praise. In the warmth of his words, even when they were paired with the mortifying reality of my situation.

“I...” I started, trailing off as I avoided her gaze. “What did he tell you?”

Clara tilted her head, studying me for a moment before her hand reached out, resting gently on the front of my diaper. The touch was casual, but it sent a jolt of self-consciousness through me, the bulk of the padding beneath her hand a humiliating reminder of my position.

“Enough,” she said simply, her smile turning sly. “Enough to understand that this isn’t just about tradition. It’s about you, Liliana. What you need, what you’ve come to rely on—even if you won’t admit it to yourself.”

My breath hitched, and I glanced up at her, my face burning. “What are you saying?” I whispered, a lump forming in my throat.

“I’m saying,” Clara replied, her hand still resting on me as she leaned in slightly, her tone soft but firm, “that as your attendant, it’s my duty to fulfill your desires. To ensure you continue the legacy of the Queens before you.” Her eyes gleamed with something close to mischief as she added, “And, if I’m honest, to make sure you stay grounded. Humble.”

I stared at her, speechless, my emotions swirling in a chaotic mix of embarrassment, indignation, and an undeniable sense of vulnerability. “Clara...” I began, my voice shaking slightly.

She cut me off with a gentle squeeze, her smile unwavering. “Don’t overthink it,” she said lightly. “You’re still my Queen, Liliana. But I’m here to make sure you remember who you are—and where you’ve come from,” she said, her fingers pressing in firmly into my diaper, right atop my button.

I gasped in surprise as her fingers gently swirled over my sex, my knees going weak; I hadn’t been touched like this in what felt like months. “Cara, what are you doing?” I asked, my voice cutting off as I stifled a moan.

“You’re such a good girl, Liliana,” she said softly, her voice like velvet but with a teasing edge that made my stomach twist. “You used your diaper like a good little Queen should,” her fingers swirled, pressing in, and despite myself, I could feel the excitement building within me, a pent-up lust I had been ignoring.

“C-Clara...” I stammered, my voice barely above a whisper as I tried to shrink away from her words. The warmth spreading through me had nothing to do with the diaper itself but the humiliating praise she was lavishing on me. My heart thumped wildly, betraying me, and I couldn’t stop the small, flustered sound that escaped my lips.

“Shh,” she murmured, her hand giving the faintest, encouraging pat. “No need to be embarrassed. It’s good that you accept it—it’s what’s expected of you, after all.” Her tone softened even further, almost coaxing. “You’re just following tradition, aren’t you? Being the good girl your people need you to be.”

Her words pierced straight through my defenses, and I felt my knees wobble slightly beneath me. I couldn’t meet her gaze. Every syllable rang in my ears, and the worst part was... I felt something. A confusing mix of shame, relief, and a strange, almost pleasant fluttering deep in my chest. I hated that it made me feel cared for, even if the attention was so profoundly humiliating.

Clara’s smile widened as if she could read exactly what was happening inside me. “See? You’re doing so well,” she continued her voice like a lullaby now, soft and unwavering. “Your people will look to you as their Queen—strong, yet humble. It takes a very good girl to bear such a burden.”

Clara held me as my knees went weak. I let out a low moan, unable and possibly even unwilling to stop her advances. Clara grinned, and before I knew what she was doing, she pressed a pacifier into my mouth, her fingers swirling faster. I moaned, the pacifier muffling me as my eyes glazed over, an orgasm building within me.

As I came, I gasped, my head rolling back, the pacifier bobbing in my mouth as she leaned in and whispered, “You are such a good girl; good girls who use their diapers get rewarded. You are a good girl, Queen Liliana.”

Despite Clara's support, I crumbled to my knees, my body coursing with pleasure as she knelt, her fingers rubbing me through my diaper. The mess still caked my rear, but perhaps that wasn’t as bad as I thought it was.