The Crimson Crown

As the heavy doors closed behind us, leaving the three of us alone in the quiet corridor, I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding. The brief respite was a welcome one, but the weight in the pit of my stomach—both literal and figurative—was impossible to ignore.

“Alright,” I said abruptly, spinning around to face Dorian and Clara. My voice edged with impatience. If we’re going to eat, I desperately need a diaper change first.”

Dorian arched a brow, looking between me and Clara with a curious expression. “Wait, how long have you been... like this?”

Clara smirked faintly, her arms crossing over her chest as she leaned casually against the wall. “Before we even came into the sitting room,” she said matter-of-factly, a small glint of amusement flickering in her eyes.

Dorian blinked, clearly surprised, before a slow, knowing smile spread across his face. “Before?” he echoed, his voice tinged with awe. “You’ve been sitting there for hours, enduring that?”

My cheeks flared crimson, and I fidgeted in place, unable to meet his gaze. “I didn’t exactly have a choice,” I muttered, my voice barely above a whisper.

Instead of teasing me further, Dorian stepped forward, closing the space between us. His hands rested gently on my arms as he tilted my chin up to meet his gaze. The warmth in his eyes was unmistakable, filled not with mockery but pride.

“I’m impressed, Liliana,” he said softly, his voice like a comforting balm. “Truly. I’m surprised you lasted as long as you did.”

Before I could form a response, he leaned in, pressing a tender kiss to my forehead. I felt his hand reaching around, grabbing my rear in a loving, teasing way, giving my messy bottom a firm squeeze.  The simple gesture sent a wave of warmth spreading through me, brushing away the humiliation I’d felt moments before.

“My little girl,” he murmured, his voice barely audible as he pulled back just enough to look into my eyes. “You did so well today. I’m so proud of you.”

I froze, my heart fluttering in my chest, as his words settled over me like a soft blanket. Despite the deep crimson still burning on my cheeks, something warm and bright bloomed in my chest—a tiny, fragile sense of pride.

I knew I should feel humiliated—I was humiliated—but his praise washed over me like sunlight breaking through clouds. It was comforting and rounding, and even as I squirmed slightly, acutely aware of my state, I couldn’t deny the quiet pride swelling within me.

Clara, standing off to the side, cleared her throat, breaking the moment as her teasing tone returned. “Well, your little girl needs a clean diaper before she gets anything else, Your Grace,” she said with a smirk, earning a chuckle from Dorian.

He stepped back, his smile lingering as he gestured for Clara to take over. “Go on, Clara. I’ll meet you both in the dining hall when she’s all taken care of.”

As Clara took my hand and began leading me back toward the royal suite, I couldn’t stop the small, reluctant smile that tugged at the corners of my lips. Dorian’s words echoed softly in my mind, his praise lingering like a spark of warmth against the cool sting of my embarrassment.

Maybe, just maybe, I didn’t mind being his little girl quite so much after all.

Clara guided me back to our suite with steady hands, her demeanor calm and composed as she gently ushered me through the door. The weight of exhaustion clung to me like a shroud, but the relief of finally getting a clean diaper pulled me forward. Without a word, she motioned toward the changing table, her expectant gaze leaving no room for protest.

I sighed softly, cheeks still flushed from Dorian’s praise, as I approached the table and lay down. The cool air kissed my skin as Clara lifted the hem of my dress, pulling it up and out of the way before skillfully untapping my soiled diaper. I avoided her gaze, my hands twitching nervously at my sides as I tried to think of anything other than what was happening.

But Clara—ever efficient and matter-of-fact—wasn’t fazed in the slightest. She cleaned me swiftly and gently, her movements careful yet practiced, as though this were the most natural thing in the world. The faint crinkle of the fresh diaper filled the silence as she positioned it beneath me, securing it snugly around my waist with quick, precise motions. Before I knew it, she was smoothing my dress back down and helping me to my feet, her hands lingering just a moment to pat down the fabric and ensure everything was perfectly in place.

“There you go,” she said with a small smile, stepping back to study me like a painter admiring her finished work. “All set.”

I nodded faintly, the warmth in my cheeks refusing to fade. “Thanks,” I mumbled, still too embarrassed to meet her gaze.

Clara’s smile softened as she tilted her head slightly, watching me for a long moment before speaking. “You know,” she began, her voice quieter this time, more thoughtful. “When I first realized you needed diapers, I didn’t know what to make of it. I was... put off, I suppose. I thought it was strange, even for royalty. But...”

I glanced up at her, surprised by her admission. She wasn’t mocking or scolding me; she was just sharing her thoughts openly, and her gaze was steady and kind.

“But then,” Clara continued, “I realized something. I’ve always had strong instincts to care for others—it’s just part of who I am. At first, I leaned on those instincts to get me through. It was easier to focus on helping you than to dwell on the situation we were in.” She paused, her expression growing softer. “But somewhere along the way, it stopped bothering me. I don’t mind it anymore.”

I blinked at her, unsure of what to say.

Clara’s lips quirked into a small, nostalgic smile. “As strange as it sounds, it’s created something... special between us. A bond.” She met my eyes, her voice steady with quiet sincerity. “There’s something intimate about caring for someone this way—something I haven’t felt since leaving my family. I haven’t had anyone to look after or anyone to rely on me like this. It’s humbling, yes, but it’s also... comforting. Like I have a purpose again.”

I stared at her, my throat tightening as her words sank in. My embarrassment had so consumed me—my shame—that I hadn’t stopped to consider how Clara might feel. And yet, here she was, seeing this strange, humiliating reality as something far more profound.

“I...” I started, struggling to find the words. “I didn’t know you felt that way.”

Clara shrugged lightly, her smile warm but tinged with a quiet sadness. “It’s not something I talk about much. But you’re not just my Queen, Liliana. You’re... my friend. And if this is part of who you are—part of what makes you you—then I’ll embrace it.” She paused, her voice growing softer still. “I don’t mind caring for you, even if it’s like this. Because it means you’re here, and we’re still standing. After everything we’ve been through... that’s what matters.”

I felt a pang in my chest, the lump in my throat threatening to overwhelm me. “Thank you, Clara,” I whispered, my voice barely audible.

She nodded once, her expression gentle as she reached out and squeezed my hand. “Come on,” she said, breaking the quiet moment with a small, teasing grin. “Let’s go find Dorian before he decides to come looking for us. I’m sure he’s already wondering what’s taking so long.”

I smiled faintly, my heart feeling both heavier and lighter at the same time. As Clara led me toward the door, I realized how much her words had meant—how much her presence had meant. In a world that had turned upside down, she’d become my anchor, my confidante. And for the first time in a long while, I didn’t feel quite so alone.

Clara pulled the door open for me with practiced grace, stepping aside so I could pass. She fell into step behind me, her presence now a quiet, constant reassurance. The soft patter of our shoes echoed faintly through the corridor as we made our way toward the royal dining room, the faint scent of fresh bread and roasting meats guiding us like a beacon.

When we entered, I almost let out a sigh of relief. The dining room had been spared the scars of war. The polished floors gleamed, reflecting the soft glow of golden chandeliers overhead. The long table, adorned with pristine linens and silverware, was already bustling with activity as servants moved in practiced harmony to set the meal before Dorian.

At the head of the table sat my husband, regal and composed, though the sight of him here felt oddly domestic after everything we had endured. He looked up as I entered, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips. For a moment, his expression softened, as if I were not a Queen or a leader but just his Liliana.

Clara, ever dutiful, gently guided me to my seat, pulling out the heavy chair and helping me settle in. “Thank you,” I murmured to her as I sat, the plush cushioning a welcome comfort.

Dorian motioned subtly toward a nearby hall, the one where servants and attendants dined. “You can join the others, Clara,” he said kindly but firmly. “Liliana and I have some things to discuss.”

Clara hesitated for just a moment, her eyes flicking to me as though making sure I was all right on my own. I nodded faintly, giving her a reassuring look. With a final curtsy, she turned and headed toward the hall, her pace brisk but not hurried.

Once she was gone, I turned my gaze to the meal laid before me, and my stomach grumbled audibly at the sight. The dishes weren’t quite as extravagant as the feasts I remembered—there were no towering pastries or gilded platters of imported delicacies—but compared to the miserable gruel and stale bread of my time as a servant, it was nothing short of a banquet.

Thick slices of roasted meat, golden-brown potatoes, and a savory gravy pooled on my plate. Steamed vegetables sat neatly beside them, their bright colors a stark contrast to the muted days I’d spent scrubbing floors. There was even a small loaf of warm, buttered bread, its aroma tantalizing and rich.

I didn’t hesitate. Proper decorum could wait. I eagerly picked up my utensils and dug in, savoring every bite. The tender meat practically melted on my tongue, the gravy rich and seasoned to perfection. I hadn’t realized how much I’d missed food like this—how much I’d missed feeling like myself.

Across the table, Dorian watched me with quiet amusement, his meal untouched for the moment. “It’s good to see you enjoying yourself,” he said softly, his voice carrying the warmth of familiarity.

I swallowed a mouthful of potatoes, offering him a sheepish smile. “It’s been a while since I’ve had anything that didn’t taste like... well, mush.”

Dorian chuckled, shaking his head. “I suppose you’ve earned it.” He picked up his fork, finally taking a bite of his meal before glancing at me again. “This is just the beginning, Liliana. We’ll rebuild. The kingdom will be stronger than ever. You’ll see.”

The weight of his words settled over me, filling me with a mixture of hope and determination. I nodded, chewing slowly as I looked down at my plate. For the first time in a long while, I felt like things were beginning to fall back into place—like the storm had passed, and calm waters were on the horizon.

After that, we ate in peaceful silenct, the hum of servants moving in the background a gentle reminder that, while much had changed, some things remained constant. This meal, this room, this moment—it was a taste of normalcy I hadn’t realized how desperately I needed.

And though the path ahead remained uncertain, I couldn’t help but feel that for the first time in weeks, I was truly... home.

The servants moved silently around us, clearing empty dishes and refilling goblets with practiced precision. Eventually, though, they filtered out, leaving Dorian and me alone in the vast, regal dining hall. The quiet was strange—neither suffocating nor unsettling—just a simple, peaceful reprieve after the days of chaos.

I twirled a piece of bread in my hands, picking at its edges before daring to speak. “Dorian,” I began softly, glancing up at him. He was halfway through a sip of wine, his expression content, but my tone made him pause. “Exactly how long do you intend for this... tradition to continue?”

He set his goblet down with a soft clink, a smile already tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Tradition?” he echoed teasingly, though he knew perfectly well what I meant.

I flushed, avoiding his gaze as I bit the inside of my cheek. “You know what I’m talking about.” My voice lowered, tinged with embarrassment. “The... the babying. The diapers.”

Dorian leaned back in his chair, his smile softening into something fonder, though the mischief never quite left his eyes. “Ah, yes. That tradition.” He folded his arms, studying me with an expression that was both amused and serious. “Well, until the coronation, I think it’s best to keep up appearances. Decorum, as you know, is important.”

I narrowed my eyes at him, my face hot. “Decorum?” I repeated incredulously. “You’re calling this decorum?”

He chuckled, the rich sound filling the hall. “You’re the Queen-to-be, Liliana. The kingdom has its customs. You said it’s important to honor them.”

I opened my mouth to retort, only for him to raise a hand, cutting me off gently. “But,” he continued, leaning forward slightly, “I’ll admit something to you.”

I paused, watching him warily as he rested his chin on his hand, his gaze warm and unshakably sincere.

“I love babying you, Liliana.” His voice was soft, affectionate. “I love you in diapers. I love caring for you, holding you, and seeing you trust me so completely. It’s more than just tradition for me—it’s... us. It’s you.” He smiled faintly, his eyes holding mine. “And I would be remiss if you weren’t in them.”

My breath caught at the tenderness in his words, though my cheeks burned with embarrassment. “Dorian...” I managed my voice a whisper. I didn’t know what to say or how to reconcile the warmth blooming in my chest with the humiliation tangled up inside me.

“That said,” he added, his tone growing more lenient, “if you truly want out of them after the coronation—if you genuinely want it—I’ll show mercy.” His lips quirked into a playful grin. “I’m not heartless.”

I stared at him, unsure whether I wanted to groan or laugh. “How generous of you,” I muttered dryly, though my face was still flushed.

Dorian simply smiled, that infuriatingly charming smile of his. “You’re my little queen, Liliana. You always will be, in one way or another.”

I swallowed hard, unable to suppress the flutter in my chest as his words settled over me. A part of me wanted to argue, to declare my independence, my maturity. But another part of me—a softer, quieter part—remembered the way he held me, soothed me, and praised me. The way his love wrapped around me like the safest of shields.

And for a fleeting moment, I wasn’t sure which part of me would win.