Demon's Promise: a high fantasy femdom novella by Em Shimizu

The snow swallowed Ruen’s footsteps as he slipped
behind the castle stables and into the dark forest beyond.
    A quick glance confirmed that none of the hired
guards were around. No doubt they were carousing away the night or
warming their feet with their bed companion of choice. And most of
the servants would either be busy making preparations for the next
morning’s drudgery, or relaxing in their quarters after the long
day’s work.
    Leaving the coast clear for him and Nairee.
    Nairee was the cook’s daughter, a pretty slip of a
girl with big dewy eyes and an impish smile. She’d been dropping
hints for months, some of which Ruen had pretended not to notice or
understand, and some of which he had reciprocated with hints of his
own. He held no particular feelings toward her, but other than the
occasional apprentice from the village or youths from passing
caravans, she was really the only other person around his age that
he saw very much of, and the few times they’d exchanged words he
had found her more than tolerable.
    And then, earlier that evening, he’d found a locket
in his soup when she carried the usual supper tray up to his room.
She’d fled before he could demand an explanation, and he’d pried
open the locket to find a note folded up into a tiny square.
Written there in shaky handwriting was a request to meet him at the
abandoned shrine after the sandtower reversed its flow to mark the
void hour.
    Ruen, who had not realized the girl was literate,
found himself oddly charmed.
    So he’d waited until the sands of the tower began to
trickle upward and blanket the top in a light dusting of silver,
then wrapped himself in a thick cloak before slipping out of his
chambers and down a rickety old staircase no one used or even
remembered anymore.
    Now, as he stood shivering among the dark gnarled
trees, he almost began to regret coming. He hated the cold, hated
the way his bodily extremities numbed against the onslaught of
wind, the reminder of his magical impotence, his inability to cast
even the simplest of warming spells despite his illustrious
heritage.
    Still, he suspected that he would not have to worry
about the cold for much longer. And that sense of anticipation was
not unpleasant.
    He did not activate the lightglobe slung from his
waist sash until he was far enough from the tree line to avoid
being seen from outside. After that, it was easy to locate the path
to the shrine, and easier still to follow said path to the crumbled
old structure where Nairee awaited.
    She was leaning against the barred
entrance, staring down at her feet, arms folded across her modest
chest, lightglobe bobbing from where she had hung it at her hip.
But on hearing his footsteps, she looked up at once, her face
breaking into a soft glowing smile that transformed her delicate,
girlish features into something more .
    “Il-Ruen! You came!”
    “Of course I did,” replied Ruen, smiling back.
“Hello, Nairee.”
    “I thought – I was afraid you wouldn’t. I mean, after
all –” She stepped forward. Hesitated. Then, daringly, took his
cold gloved hands in her own. “Oh, I’m so glad!”
    “So am I.” He closed his fingers around hers, seeking
what little warmth she provided, and gazed into her dark wide
eyes.
    After a moment, she broke the gaze with a nervous
giggle.
    “Come on,” she said, tugging at his hand. “Let’s go
inside. It’s bound to be warmer in there.”
    “Inside?” he said, raising a brow. “You aren’t
afraid?”
    “Bah,” she replied. “Amma says they’re all just silly
old tales. Not a speck of truth among them.”
    “My, such blasphemy.”
    She stuck her tongue out. “Oh, you.”
    Well, Ruen certainly wasn’t about to complain.
    The bar on the door was evidently just for show.
Nairee pried it out of place with ease, then ushered him
inside.
    It was indeed warmer, if only because there was no
wind. Quieter, too.
    Ruen, who had never been to the shrine – had never
had reason to before –