#wow... pre-canon...

"You can't be serious," she says. Her voice wavers, thin and uncertain. "Bastian?"

"We've all seen the way you look at him, dear," her mother says. "You needn't hide your feelings with us."

"How could you possibly think I have feelings for him? We're friends!"

Her mother tuts disapprovingly. "Don't play coy, Hellena. Earl Kostas' station is far above ours. The fact that His Grace, the Duke, even entertained this suit is incredible enough."

"And Bastian?" Hellena hears herself ask, "He—He also entertained this? He agreed?"

Her father clicks his tongue. "Does that even bear asking, girl? You're not a child anymore, Hellena. You need to act like it. The wedding will be next year, if His Grace permits it."

Her mother leans forward and draws Hellena's hands into her own. Tears have gathered at the corners of her eyes. "My dear girl," she says wistfully. "Your whole life will change once you marry the Earl of Kostas."

Hellena can feel herself trembling, but she won't let herself fall apart here. She can't let them see the despair coiling in her gut. She forces herself to smile, to nod and agree, and asks to be excused. Her parents, exchanging looks of relief, allow her to leave.

Hellena runs away that night.

A deal with a wagoner gets her part of the way out of her father's territory. She sheds her life as the fourth daughter of a provincial baron one sale at a time, trading frills and jewels for much more travel-hardy apparel. Hellena's never been one to stand out in a crowd but by the time she's made it to the capital, her own parents likely wouldn't recognise her. Still, when Bastian bursts through the door of her inn room, he calls her name right away.

"I got your letter," he says, "I came as soon as I could."

Hellena's holding a dagger, has been since she'd heard him coming up the stairs. She doesn't drop it, even though she knows it's practically useless against him. It's a warning to stay back, and one that he heeds.

"Did you know?" she demands.

Bastian doesn't even give her the courtesy of blinking. "I didn't."

He sounds tired, but then, he always does nowadays. She doesn't let herself soften.

"Did you know?"

"I swear. I didn't know. I wouldn't have let them—"

She feels a laugh rip itself from her throat. "Don't lie to me. We both know you would."

Now, Bastian steps closer. "On my life. Hellena, I would not do this to you."

The blade clatters to the ground. She presses her hands to her head.

"Okay," she begins. Takes one ragged breath then another. Drops her hands. Tries again. "Okay. What do I do, Bas? I can't go back there."

"Then don't. Get as far away from here as you can. I brought some cash with me. Once you find someplace you think is safe, write to me again and I'll arrange for more funds to be sent."

"I'm not living off you."

"You know it's fine—"

"It's not."

"I'm trying to help you," Bastian says, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Just let me do that, Hellena."

Hellena lifts her chin. "Don't patronise me, Bas. I've had enough of that already."

He opens his mouth to interject, but she barrels on.

"Whatever you give me, I'll repay. On fair terms to you, even. I'll set up shop, do… I don't know, some kind of merchant business."

"With what contacts?"

"That's for me to figure out."

"And if you fail?"

"Then we reassess at a set date. But I won't fail. Bastian, you and I both know that I'm not some spoiled eighteen year-old brat venturing out into the world for the first time. I can do this."

He looks at her then. Really, truly looks at her, one transmigrator to another. Sighs.

"Your cousin's going to kill me if he finds out I helped you do this," he mutters.

"But he won't find out, right Bas?"

His shoulders slump. "I won't tell anyone I saw you," he swears.