- Kingdom of Yareswen -

“Leona, darling, remove your elbow from the table!” the whisper came from her right.

Ever the proper host, her mother. Leona didn’t even need to look at her to imagine the plump woman’s brows raised above her widened eyes, aghast at her daughter’s abhorrent behavior. Women of stature do not rest their elbows upon the table during a meal. What would their guests think?

Leona stifled her sigh as she moved her arm to rest on her lap and looked down at the gown her mother had chosen for her. It was yellow and lilac, the shades of House Selwyn. She didn’t mind the gown so much - the colors were hers, after all - but rather the reason she had to wear it: tonight, Bradsford Prattleswen III and his parents dined with the Selwyn family.

“Not that the guard would notice such a thing,” she heard Duke Prattleswen II say as her father laughed.

She tried not to roll her eyes. At eighteen years of age, Leona had already been betrothed to Bradsford for two years. Despite this, she had only met the young man twice, and neither time was enjoyable. He wasn’t a bad man; he was simply a complete and utter bore.

Leona wanted adventure in her life. She wanted to look back, even as close as yesterday, and find meaning in what she saw there. That wouldn’t happen if she married the heir of an etherium manufacturing empire who spent his days running the numbers in a factory.

While it was true that Yareswen far exceeded neighboring kingdoms with their advancement of magi-tech, Leona would never find the excitement she so desperately sought in paperwork - and while being the richest family this side of the Yareswen River may have impressed her father, it had never meant anything to her.

She looked up to find her mother still watching her, as if Leona would further rebel against social expectation. She smiled that perfect daughter-smile she’d spent the past fifteen years developing to show the woman that she would embrace the perfectionist social niceties expected of nobility in Yareswen.

Why couldn’t she be one of the adventurers who passed through the market - like the ones in that cat-hide-covered wagon she’d seen earlier in the day? Those three looked to be an interesting bunch, as different from one another as they were from the Selwyns.

She imagined the adventurers spent most of their time on the road, staying in taverns when they bothered to enter cities, and hunting the dire beasts that roamed the lands for a living. Why couldn’t she do that? Why couldn’t she be a Direman?

“And what of you, Leona? What do you do to pass the time?” Duchess Prattleswen asked.

“I’m an excellent archer,” Leona replied, bringing herself back to the conversation. “I even placed first in the past two Yareswen archery competitions.”

She gave in to resignation as she watched the stiff body language of their guests. She probably wouldn’t even be allowed that joy soon. Bradsford likely wouldn’t want a wife who was actually involved in an activity that could produce sweat on a hot day.

Duke Prattleswen II smiled at Leona as a man smiles at a child who hasn’t yet learned the way of things. “You will grow to enjoy the leisure time you’ll find at our estate. You’ll even be able to devote yourself to activities befitting a woman of your new station, without the pressure of competitive pursuits.”

“Indeed,” Bradsford added amiably. “My sister has incredible dexterity with the needles and would surely assist you. You’ll build enough dexterity to be proud in no time at all, I’m sure.”

Leona had prepared for this and endured it all with practiced smiles and false grace. Inside, however, she was tearing at her hair and screaming at them all for being so pathetically complacent and caught up in a social structure that meant nothing in the end, and served only to limit a woman’s options in life.

“I’ve much to share with you as well on my family’s particular embroidery techniques,” the Duchess continued. “You’ll finally be able to focus on something appropriate to women of our ilk.”

The distaste of Leona’s archery was apparent, despite the supportive comments.

“Your estates would have room for a small archery range though, wouldn’t they, Lady Prattleswen?” She couldn’t help herself.

Her father coughed into his coffee, and Bradsford replied from across the table before his mother had the chance.

“Oh, my dear Leona, surely you will want to leave such physically straining activities behind and finally take your place among the social elite?” He smiled as he spoke, though it never reached his eyes.

Not a bad man, no, but definitely a product of his environment. Leona did not want to be a porcelain doll, there to grace his arm and show his peers that he - like them - was a proper man. If only she’d been born male, she could be a Direman archer and no one would look down on her for it.

Later that night, unable to sleep, Leona stared at the ceiling above her. She ran through all the proclamations she wished she’d made at the dinner table. Time and time again she arrived at the same conclusion. She simply could not marry that man. She could not live that life.

Her parents wouldn’t be swayed, as she well knew. She’d tried over the past two years on multiple occasions, but the social status they would gain from this union was of too much importance to them, and the merger of her father’s business with their manufacturing empire was something he couldn’t pass up.

She threw off the duvet and stood. She could only see two options: kill herself and show them all the error and uselessness of their ways… Or leave.

She had no desire to die, but she didn’t have anywhere to go, either. Realizing she’d risen and was pacing, she stopped in front of the window, sparing a glance to her bow in the corner and the accolades displayed on the shelf next to it.

She could make it as a Direman, couldn’t she? She had hit moving targets often in her competitions and while women weren’t generally allowed to hunt in the forests, she was better than half the men who supplied her estate with venison and boar.

A hunter was one thing. A Direman, though, they sought the monstrous and almost mythical beasts from which normal hunters fled.

Leona thought back to the Diremen she’d seen in the market earlier that day. There wasn’t a bow among them.

The large, burly man had carried the largest battle axe she’d ever seen strapped to his back. The foppish one, in his garish Western garb, wore two rapiers at his belt. She recalled this well because it struck her as tremendously odd, fighting with two full-sized blades instead of the rapier and dagger style that was popular throughout Yareswen.

Last among them was a man who wore a shield on his back and carried a longsword on his right hip, which was also odd. It meant that the man was left-handed, which was rare enough that some considered it a myth. Leona had decided he was the leader based on the way that he carried himself.

Surely, she could show them the value of having a bowman with them. Yes, she thought. Yes, this is what I will do.

Leona picked up her carpet bag and opened it, setting it atop her bed. After dressing in her training tunic and breaches, she placed two sets of clothing - no gowns, and the jewelry from her top drawer into the bag. She threw its handles over her shoulder, grabbed her bow and quiver, then stepped out into the hall.

With light steps she crossed to the stairs and hugged the wall as she descended to avoid creaks and groans from the steps. She’d learned to do that years back in order to sneak into the backyard to practice her archery in the darkness, as if being unable to see much would make her better somehow.

She snuck into the kitchen and grabbed a handful of fruit and hard tack from the larder. That would tide her over until she could sell her jewelry and purchase better equipment. With one last look around the kitchen, she pushed open the back door and slipped away into the night.

Leona stuck to the shadows as she moved toward the market district. It was unlikely that the city guards would recognize her in the darkness, but she didn’t want to take any chances. She knew the Diremen would probably leave just before dawn to avoid the foot traffic; thus she, too, would be gone before her parents woke up.

She reached the tavern and saw their hide-covered wagon parked in the alley. I can’t believe you’re doing this, she told with herself. What are you going to do when they discover you, far from town, and reject you?

Leona shut that voice down, refusing to be swayed. Looking both ways, she darted across the cobblestone street and hopped into the back of the wagon.

It was too dark to make out anything other than wooden crates, but she noticed a pile of tanned hides and furs by touch and lifted them. After crawling beneath the pile, she huddled up, certain she would not be noticed when the men set out on their next journey.