[Standard Content Warning: This is an ABDL story blog, that means stories on this page contain diapers, diaper usage (like, lots of it), infantilism and the like! In addition, mental and physical manipulation, bondage and nonconsensual or dubiously consensual employment of all of the above themes and many others may also apply. Viewer discretion is advised.]
Madris and your handmaiden thankfully agree to keep the accidents a secret from the Queen. Part of you thinks that if she knew, she might want to stop or slow down the process of infusing you with her mana and after your last conversation, you don’t think you want that.
You try various method. She started with the kissing, of course. Putting mana into her lipstick and then transferring it to you via skin contact. She eventually decided that forced too much mana into your body at once, so she stopped (the enchanted lipstick, anyway. She still grabs you at random and kisses you on a regular basis). Then you tried potions, first a couple gulps, then a thimbleful with your water in the morning, then two drops at night. That didn’t work either. Spell circles theoretically would give them more fine control over how they infused the mana into your body. Incense would let you slowly breathe in the mana. Enchanting your dresses would let the mana sink into your body through your skin over the course of hours.
Your enchanted underwear kept getting put through its paces, no matter the method. But it was a lot harder to hide some of the other side-effects.
“Ah!”
You drop to one knee, repeatedly shaking your your hand as your practice sword clatters out of your hand.
“My Princess!” Barhom is the elven member of the Queensguard that expressed such distaste for you on your first night in the tower. Now, he is your swordsmanship teacher and at current, your sparring partner. “Are you hurt?” He asks, approaching and gingerly taking your arm.
“It’s - it’s fine!” You insist. “I just wasn’t ready for the impact. It stung my wrist a bit. That’s all,” you say. Despite your assurances, Barhom looks at you and your still-shaking hand with concern. Then, he furrows his brow a bit. He gives your wrist a very light squeeze, running his hand up your arm until he’s wrapped his hand around your upper arm.
“Princess, have you lost some muscle?” He asks. You look at your arm and his hand.
“I - I don’t think so?” You say. “I’ve been doing the exercises you taught me.” You tip your head. “Well. The best I can, with my schedule, anyway.”
“You have been very busy as of late, preparing for the ceremony…” Barhom says, crossing his arms. “Let’s stop here for the day.”
“But Barhom--!” You start to insist. He reaches a hand out and places it on top of your head.
“There’s no rush, princess. We will make you a great swordswoman some day, but it will take time. I believe you have your witching lessons soon, anyway.” You let out a huff. He does have a point.
“I dunno if any amount of practice is going to make me a good witch,” you grumble as you stand up. “I’d rather focus on swordplay, at least I know I can do that.”
“If you know you’re better at swordplay than witching, that’s all the more reason to spend this moment focusing on the latter,” Barhom says. Dammit. You walked right into that one.
“You’re right,” you concede. You walk over to your practice sword so you can pick it up and put it away. You grunt with exertion as you lift it off the ground. You grip it with both hands and lift it up, balancing it on your shoulder. It’s kinda heavier than you remember. Barhom notices you struggling.
“Allow me, my princess,” he says and before you can object, he’s taken the sword from your hands. “Come. Let’s go back to your chamber to get out of your practicing clothes, then I’ll escort you to your lesson.”
You look at your arms for a second. But after a second, you nod. He puts the practice sword away and you follow him. You try not to blush at the mention of changing your clothes and you instinctively pull down at your skirt a bit more. You got a pretty good jolt when he knocked your sword out of your hand, but you’re pretty sure the enchantment in your panties held up. You’re definitely going to have to refresh it when you get back to your chamber, though.
Magic lessons, as you alluded, don’t go much better. You can magically sense some things that are invisible to other senses, you’ve created a couple rudimentary magic circles, but you can’t craft spells yet, basically at all.
The longer you go making no progress, the more it burns you up. For as much as she said about magical ability only being one string to a witch’s bow, your Queen has filled her tower almost exclusively with skilled magic users. The servants know magic. The guards know magic. The spellcrafters and spellnurses have it right in their names. All of the lords and ladies the Queen has risen were put in their position because they were accomplished magic users. The Queensguard are all masters, the elite of the elite
“You are tired of being told, ‘Just be patient’.”
Urgok, the orcish member of the Queensguard is teaching you today. On your first night in the tower, she’s the one who caught you with a magic missile. Then she knocked you out with a headbutt.
“It tired me too. I wanted only to serve my Queen. How can I serve Witch Queen if I cannot cast magic. It drove me out of my mind.”
She’s the one who has this in common with you. Orc magic users aren’t exactly common and she knew no magic before she met the Queen. She learned how purely so she could serve in the Queensguard.
“But my Queen tells me something I remember still today. Witches are thought of as clever, sneaky, always finding a way around everything. I thought, I am just a dumb orc who uses her sword and fists. How can I be clever, like a witch. But my Queen, she sees my struggle and she tells me something.”
Urgok stops in front of you and holds up a single finger.
“She tells me ‘There is no way but through’. For all of their cleverness, being a witch requires hours upon hours of hard work. Toughness. Banging your head against reality over and over until it bends to your will. And when she tells me this, I understand. I may not know how to go around. But I know how to go through. Do you know how I go through?”
You pause for a second to think about it and you let out a sigh.
“By failing over and over again until it eventually works?”
She smiles. You groan.
“Smart girl.” You rub your head. You feel a headache coming on. You’ve been trying to cast this spell the exact way the book says for hours and you’re still not getting anywhere. Urgok sees you rubbing your head and places a hand under the book, flipping it closed. “We try enough for today. Lesson is finished.”
“But we haven’t actually made any progress!” You try to object.
“You do not want to hear this. I know. I did not want to either,” Urgok says to you. “But it is still truth. You must be patient. Your magic will bloom when it is ready.” She takes the book away before you can object anymore. “You are tired. I will take you back to chamber. Learning witch need rest. Learning princess, even more.”
Part of you wants to complain, but you acquiesce for two reasons. One, you really are starting to get a headache and a nap sounds very good. The second is, unbeknown to Urgok, you spent most of the second half of that lesson wetting yourself and sitting in it was starting to get very uncomfortable.
After your nap, you go to the secret passage from your room to the Queensguard’s quarters to knock, but you stop. You hear voices. You shouldn’t knock if they’re busy, so you start to back away.
“—Rain—”
You pause. You might’ve just misheard. But after a second of deliberating, you open the secret passage and crawl into it. You don’t go all the way into the other room, you just sit in the space in between the two chambers and listen.
“She could barely hold her sword today.” Barhom’s voice. “Are her magic lessons going any better?”
“…Slow.” Urgok’s voice. “She is frustrated. Difficulty concentrating. She is hiding headaches during lesson. I send her to bed after lesson today.”
“She is still adjusting to everything here.” Artemis, the Dame Commander’s voice. “We should not expect her to take to everything instantly.”
“It’s not an issue of her competency,” Barhom again. “She’s trying her hardest at everything we give her. That’s not the problem. The tiara changed her body, but not to this degree.”
The Queensguard are some of the few that know about the tiara. Their magic sense is great enough that they were unaffected by its memory alteration charms. Of course, none of them care who you were before you came here. To them, you are simply their Princess.
“What’re you saying, Barhom?”
“I looked at her arm earlier and, it felt like my entire hand could fit around it. It wasn’t like that, before, Commander.”
“You think she’s losing muscle mass.”
“Muscle mass, dexterity, coordination…”
“…stamina, as well. Tiara did not give her headaches. Make her unable to concentrate.”
“Madris. You spend the most time with her of any of us. Have you noticed anything we haven’t?” You swallow. And with all of your power (your non-existent power, to be clear), you will Madris to hear you screaming at her, do not tell them.
“I guess…just the same stuff Barhom and Urgok have,” Madris says and you feel a wave of relief. “I didn’t notice her arms getting smaller, but, she tires out easily. The Queen wants her to attend court and meet the Lords that are coming, but, she’s missing all of those things. I told the Queen she was focusing on her lessons and she let it go, but…”
“Then it may be as we feared. I will notify the Queen. Keep a close eye on her. If she worsens, tell me immediately.”
All of them murmur their assent and the conversation ends there. You leave the secret passage and go back into your room.
You spend what feels like the next couple hours just staring at yourself in the mirror, looking at your arms, legs, your torso, trying to compare it to your memory of yourself from your first night in this chamber, right after you’d put on the tiara.
You try to approximate levels of weight you used to be able to carry and see how long you can hold them. It doesn’t go well. You eventually wind up in bed, just staring at your own arms. You remember being happy that you still retained most of your muscle, most of your strength, even after putting on the tiara and it making your arms shorter and smaller. But now they’re definitely even smaller than that.
On the one hand, you don’t like it. You want to be as strong as you were before and you really want to learn how to use a sword, which you can’t do if you can’t even hold one up. And beyond even the shape of your arms, the headaches suck, the exhaustion is awful. You want to be able to do your lessons normally and you want to be able to attend court when your Queen wants you to.
On the other hand, you keep looking at your arm. It’s undeniably smaller and softer. Can you call it more…feminine?
Not like being small and weak is inherently feminine. There are three women in the room next to you and one in the room above you that could probably fight off a hundred people. But you can’t keep the thought out of your head. Aren’t princesses generally…soft?
You don’t like this, but also, you can’t stop looking at the shape of your arms. It’s very strange and you don’t know what to make of it.
Life before the tiara was miserable and you never want to go back to it, but it was simple. Life after the tiara is better than you ever could’ve dared to hope, but boy is it complicated.
It’s convenient that you were laying in bed staring at your arms, because you don’t have to go anywhere when you drift off to sleep a bit later.
—
It was a couple days later. Your lessons mostly went by uneventfully, your instructors on the Queensguard being firmly unwilling to push you at the moment, insisting they would speed things back up eventually.
Then, one morning came by and something was different.
“Princess Rain, it’s time to get up,” your handmaiden calls as she opens the door to your chamber. You grimace and turn your head to look at her. Only when she makes eye contact with you does she realize something’s wrong.
“Princess Rain?”
“I’ve been trying to call you for an hour,” you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper. “I can’t get up.” She finishes approaching your bed and covers her mouth.
“Oh - just, stay right there, Princess - I mean, just try to relax, I mean - oh, I’ll get the Queen! Just hold on!” She runs away. You lay back on your bed and breathe in and out. You’ve never felt this weak in your life, not even on the first night after your Queen kissed you.
After a few moments, you realize you wish you had told her to get Madris first. Madris would’ve been able to try to get you cleaned up at least.
You tilt your head and look down at yourself. There’s a giant darkened stain on your nightgown and on the bed beneath you. You had a couple unconscious accidents over night, that much had sadly become normal. You woke up to the charm containing your bedwetting giving out….you think somewhere around sunrise? You’d been in and out of consciousness since then. At least some of your subsequent accidents had been while you were asleep, so you weren’t sure, but you’re pretty sure it was at least three full wettings since then, which…left you in your current state.
You really had wanted to at least keep this part a secret from your Queen. It’s just so embarrassing. Whatever secret desires you may have to be “soft”, you don’t think wetting the bed counts.
But you are also aware you have bigger concerns to deal with at the moment than being embarrassed.
“Oh, dear lord, Rain!”
The Queen doesn’t sprint to you. When she arrives, she vanishes from the door of your chamber and appears next to you. Another time, you’d say casting teleportation to move ten feet is a waste of mana, but you understand her urgency. She immediately kneels down next to you.
“Rain, my Princess, can you speak?” She asks, grabbing your hand.
“Good morning, my Queen,” you groan back. “I do believe I’ll be missed at court today.”
“Silly girl, always with a smart comment…” the Queen mutters and wraps her arms around you. “We’re going to make you better. Just rest.”
That’s about the only thing you can do. You look and see the spellnurses and a pair of Queensguard entering the room and approaching you. You make eye contact with Madris. She grimaces when she sees the state of your nightgown and your bed. You smile at her to try and tell her it’s alright.
“Your Grace, if I may,” Madris says and reaches in to pick you up. The spellnurses are already inspecting you as Madris carries you out of your bedchamber.
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