Demon's Promise: a high fantasy femdom novella

Em Shimizu

Copyright © 2014 by Em Shimizu

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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 – looked around out of idle curiosity.

The frescoes on the walls were long faded and would
have been impossible to make out even under bright daylight. As it
was, they simply appeared as blotches of dusty color, dancing with
the shadows cast by their globes.

His attention was soon drawn by a thick fur spread
out on the ground in the corner, incongruous against the dust and
cracked walls.

He smiled at the sight. Nervous though she may have
been, Nairee was certainly well prepared.

They settled down on the fur, leaning against the
wall and each other, and found themselves at a loss for words.

“You come of age at daybreak, don’t you, milord?”
Nairee whispered after some time.

He had forgotten.

“Yes.”

“I was so disappointed when Amma told me there
weren’t to be any celebrations.”

“Less work for you, isn’t it?”

She pouted, playfully shoving his arm. “It’s worth
it, though. After all that ruckus with everyone running around and
trying to get things done, all the mistakes that must be patched up
and smoothed over, and Amma just about blowing her top – When
everything falls into place at last –”

Ruen couldn’t understand the passion sparkling in her
eyes, but did not have the heart to say so.

“So you see,” she was saying. “That’s when I decided.
To – to…”

He grinned. “To what?”

Her cheeks darkened with a flush, obvious even in the
dim lighting of the globes.

“To give you a… a gift. A special gift. To mark the
occasion.”

“Oh? What sort of gift?”

She held his gaze, still blushing furiously.

Then she leaned up and brushed her lips against
his.

She was soft and warm and tasted faintly of
berries.

“That was nice,” he said, smiling, his pulse
quickening despite the cold. “Very nice.”

Nairee grinned back with a downright wicked gleam in
her eyes.

“That’s not all.”

“Really, now.”

“Really.” Her voice shook a little, and she looked a
bit nervous again. “It’ll be fine, milord. Amma taught me how to
brew the tea years ago. There shan’t be any unintended
consequences. I promise.”

The thought hadn’t even occurred to Ruen, and he
found himself touched by her consideration. Briefly, he wondered if
a child of his would be just as impotent as he. But the thought was
utterly distasteful, and he had far more interesting things to be
worrying about at the moment.

He lifted a hand to cup her soft, heated cheek.

“You do realize I’m not of age just yet?”

A look of mischief crept back into her face. “Well,
after all, what’s a few hours’ difference?”

He chuckled. Leaned close so that their foreheads
touched. “What a terrible influence you are.”

Then he kissed her again, this time slipping his
tongue between her lips. She tensed with a sweet little gasp, then
leaned into him, kissing back, twining her strong slender arms
around his back and neck. He could feel her heart racing beneath
the layers of her tunics – or was that his own heart?

He snuck his gloved hand under her inner tunic, then
pushed up her fitted bodice and closed his grasp around the gentle
swell of her chest. She squirmed, giggling and gasping at his touch
as he rubbed his thumb over the puffy softness of her stiffening
nipple.

She unwrapped her arms from around him, slid her own
hands down his front, loosening the sash of his robes. He was
growing hard already just thinking about her softness, her warmth
pressed against him, those eager, clever little fingers. He
wondered if his cock would feel as good inside her as it did in his
own fantasies, or better. He wondered if she’d lain with any
others. One of the hirelings, or one of the apprentices from the
village. If she had found them pleasing. If he could please her
just as well, though the extent of his knowledge was limited to
dusty texts and faded illustrations and brief scraps of overheard
gossip.

And watching the animals rutting, but that was hardly
any exemplary behavior for a civilized human to be mimicking.

“Please,” gasped Nairee. “Oh, please.”

Please what? Continue groping clumsily at her soft
mounds? Kiss her again? Or was that a signal for him to go ahead,
pull down her trousers, bury his shaft into that hot, secret
womanly place between her legs?

Well, why not. He certainly wanted to. And she wasn’t
stopping him…

It was getting difficult to control his breathing. He
wished it weren’t so damn cold. That he could strip her entirely,
admire her naked body, lithe and brown, feel her softness against
his bare skin –

Suddenly, silence swallowed them both. Ruen froze as
he realized he could no longer hear Nairee’s panting, or his own.
Not even the sound of his own heart beating.

Nairee looked at him, worried confusion in her face.
She pressed his arm and her mouth moved, but no words formed in the
air between them.

And in the shadows beyond the soft glow of their
lightglobes, something stirred.

Something’s there
, he tried to say, but his voice was lost to him and he did
not know if she heard. He tried to point, then, but Nairee was
babbling at him now, clinging to him, the confusion in her eyes
replaced by sheer terror.

Coiling black vines spilled out from the cracks in
the walls, reaching for him. He flinched, scrambled back, but there
was nowhere to run, and how could he leave Nairee?

The vines touched him. Circled his limbs. Stuck to
him like an inky mass of slime, pulling him down, dragging him
under.

Inexplicably, his fear transformed into a low,
boiling rage.

It wasn’t fair. He couldn’t die. Not here. Not like
this. Not when he hadn’t even begun to live –

The spirits of the shrine should have left long ago.
This place was no more sacred than the courtyard outside his
window. Those silly old tales were nothing but fibs told to
frighten the children on a dark winter’s night. On a night much
like this.

He and Nairee were surely not the first to disturb
the peace anyway. Why should they choose now, of all times, to be
offended?

It wasn’t fair.

Energy surged through him, flaring at his fingertips,
pale and blue, crackling through his very skin. Through the inky
mass he thought he saw a ghostly white stag turn its head, staring
straight into his own gaze.

A lulling sense of familiarity swept over him. Tears
filled his eyes. His chest felt like it would burst.

It wasn’t fair.

He reached his hands out to the stag. Saw then that
its neck was collared, its feet hobbled by the same black vines he
was struggling against.

It wasn’t fucking fair.

Come!
he
screamed into the silence.
Come to
me!

The stag reared, snorting back at him. Its horns tore
through the mass, but Ruen could see the vines tightening around
its neck, slicing ugly stripes along its hide.

With the strange detached observation of an
uninvolved bystander, Ruen realized his own body was spiked with
pain too, mixing with the searing remnants of desire. He quivered,
every last patch of his being thrumming with fury and hatred and
vulgar, desperate yearning.

He didn’t care if he died anymore. It was only to be
expected. He’d waited for this day to come since he was a child.
Dreaded its arrival, not knowing when, how soon. Resented it,
knowing its inevitability, the futility of struggle.

But that stag. That beautiful wild thing. So strange
and yet so familiar.

It was wrong for it to be destroyed here, like this.
Trapped, bound, confined.

Wrong. Utterly wrong.

Pressure built inside his head. Beneath his skin.
Running through his veins, his bones, his hair. Crushing his heart,
his throat.

The darkness shattered. The bubble of silence popped,
and he heard Nairee screaming and screaming and screaming, and
power surging and crashing all around him as the walls crumbled and
snow hissed to steam and it wasn’t just Nairee, he could hear the
hired guards shouting, deep gruff men and sharper-toned women, and
the sky swirled overhead as if he were flying, or maybe tumbling
back down to the earth.