The next morning, Leon woke to an empty bed.
He sat up quickly, scanning the room. His eyes found Shiera at the small table—the folding one he used for eating—and what she was doing made his blood run cold.
"What the hell are you—?!"
He was out of bed in an instant. Shiera held a knife in her hand—one of his kitchen knives—and she was cutting into her own palm. Blood dripped onto the table, a small pool spreading across the cheap wood.
Leon grabbed her wrist, stopping the knife mid-cut.
"What are you doing?" His voice came out sharper than he intended, disbelief and horror mixing together.
Shiera looked up at him, calm as still water. "Blood magic."
Leon's expression twisted. Of course. Of fucking course.
"Keep your creepy magic to yourself." He pulled the knife from her grip and set it far away, out of reach.
"It can be useful to you," she said, like she was explaining something obvious.
"Useful how?"
"I am learning it. I feel like I can do much more than before." A smile curved her lips—that dangerous, knowing smile. "My head is filled with them. Knowledge I didn't have yesterday."
Leon stared at her.
'This girl needs help.'
He grabbed her uninjured wrist and pulled her up from the chair. "Damn it. Babysitting Visenya and Rhaenys was easier than this."
He dragged her to the small sink, turned on the faucet, and shoved her bleeding hand under the cold water.
Shiera winced. A small, uncomfortable sound escaped her—maybe from the cold, maybe from the sting. Leon gave her a flat, mocking stare.
"Cutting your own hand, then complaining about pain?" He shook his head, grabbing her hand and inspecting the wound under the flow. It wasn't deep—she'd barely broken the skin—but it was enough to bleed.
He turned off the water, grabbed paper towels, and dried her hand gently. The wound was still visible, a thin red line across her pale palm. He frowned, frustrated for reasons he couldn't quite name.
"Just sit there." He guided her to the bed and pushed her down gently. Then he rummaged through his drawers until he found the small first aid kit—a habit from years of dealing with bully-induced injuries.
He knelt in front of her, pulled out antiseptic and bandages, and got to work.
Shiera watched him silently as he cleaned the wound, her mismatched eyes following every movement. He was careful—more careful than he needed to be, maybe—dabbing the antiseptic on, making sure it was clean before reaching for the bandages.
Wrapping her palm was awkward. His fingers fumbled, unused to this kind of delicate work. But he managed. A little loose in some places, a little tight in others, but the knot held.
He finished and looked up at her.
"Don't ever do that again."
She looked down at him, expression unreadable.
He sighed, thinking about what she'd said. About helping him. About knowledge filling her head.
"At least—" He paused, choosing his words. "If you want to do your blood magic, or whatever you can actually do in this world, tell me first. And don't use your own blood." He gestured vaguely. "There are plenty of psychos in America. Full of blood. Use theirs."
Shiera's lips curved.
Leon caught the smile. "You find that funny?"
He turned back to the first aid kit, packing things away, when he felt her hand on his cheek. Gentle but firm, turning his face toward hers.
"What?"
She didn't answer. Just ran her fingers lightly over his face—over the bruises, the small cuts, the remnants of yesterday's beating. They looked shallower now than they had been, healing faster than they should, but they were still there.
"Who did this?" She asked.
Leon felt heat rise to his face—embarrassment, not attraction. "Does it matter?" He tried to pull away, but her hand held firm. "Besides, didn't you watch my beating? Hopefully not." The embarrassment crept into his voice. Getting knocked around like that, helpless and pathetic—he didn't want anyone to have seen that.
Shiera's eyes searched his face. "Are you going to kill them?"
Leon grimaced. Of course that was her first suggestion.
"I want to graduate from that damn school." He met her gaze, steady. "Don't think about sacrificing anyone inside that school. Not them, not anyone. I'm going to handle it my way."
Shiera studied him for a long moment. Then she nodded slowly, her hand dropping from his face.
"As you wish."
Leon wasn't sure he believed her.
"Wait. How the hell am I going to deal with her while I'm at school?"
The thought hit Leon like a brick. Leaving Visenya and Rhaenys alone had already proven to be a monumental mistake. But leaving Shiera? Someone who cut her own hand for blood magic without hesitation? Someone who apparently just... stood there while two thugs grabbed her last night?
His jaw tightened.
She hadn't fought back at all. Not a single move. If he hadn't been there, what was her plan?
He turned to face her.
"You came here for me, right?"
Shiera nodded, those mismatched eyes watching him calmly.
"Then—"
"Also for myself," she added smoothly.
Leon paused. Then: "Alright. Stand up."
He pulled her up from the bed, and she rose gracefully, facing him. He looked her over—really looked. Took in her expression, her posture, the way she held herself.
"What do you think of yourself?" he asked.
"I am Shiera Seastar. Daughter of Aegon the Fourth, the most beautiful woman in the Seven Kingdoms, the—"
"Yeah, I know all that." Leon cut her off. "But I doubt you really understand it yourself."
Her smile faded slightly.
"If you think that highly of yourself, then you won't act stupidly. You won't put yourself in positions that lead to your doom."
Shiera tilted her head. "Are you upset that I let those men take me last night?"
Leon blinked. That was... exactly what he'd been getting at, even if his speech had been going nowhere.
He nodded, surprised.
'Does she read minds?' The thought flickered through his head.
Shiera's smile returned—softer this time. "I did not act because I knew you would come."
"And if I hadn't?" Leon's voice sharpened. "What would you have done? Attempted blood magic while they were busy assaulting you?"
"It doesn't matter. You did come." A hint of upset crept into her voice. Like he was missing something obvious.
"It matters!" Leon's hands shot out, gripping her shoulders. Not hard enough to hurt, but firm..
Shiera shivered slightly. Surprise flickered across her perfect features as she looked up at him.
Leon stared at her.
Something was... different. She wasn't the Shiera Seastar he knew from the books. Similar—so similar—but also not. This one seemed younger. More closed off, in a way. Like she hadn't fully become the woman the histories would remember.
"Right," he muttered, understanding dawning. "You're younger."
She was a younger version. Like Visenya and Rhaenys—their versions were from before the Conquest. Before they were married. Before they became the Queen Sisters.
"Why am I getting the younger versions?" He mumbled to himself.
Visenya and Rhaenys hadn't even married Aegon yet, from what he'd gathered in their brief conversations. They weren't the hardened, experienced women of the books. They were... earlier. Fresher.
'Did they sleep with Aegon yet?' The question popped into his head. He pushed it away quickly, but another thought followed: 'Are they really the ones from the books? Or are they parallel versions? Close, but not exact'
He looked at Shiera again. Seriously. Hesitantly.
"Are you a virgin?"
Shiera went silent.
"Your maidenhood," Leon pressed, feeling awkward but needing to know. "Did you give it to anyone?"
'Like your brother? Like half the court?' He kept that part to himself.
Shiera's surprise melted into a smile. "I didn't give my maidenhead to anyone."
Leon held her gaze. "Do you know Brynden Rivers?"
Shiera's expression shifted at the name.
"I know him," she said slowly. "Brynden Rivers. My half-brother."
Leon watched her carefully. "And? What do you think of him?"
Shiera was quiet for a moment, her gaze drifting somewhere distant. When she spoke, her voice was softer than he'd heard it before.
"He's strange. The strangest of all of us, I think." A small smile tugged at her lips. "The other bastards—they're all so... obvious. Daemon with his charm and his swords. Aegor with his rage and his pride. But Brynden? He sits in corners and watches. Reads books no one else touches. Stares at things that aren't there."
She glanced at Leon. "Most people find it unsettling. They think he's creepy, or touched by something dark."
"And you?"
Shiera considered. "I think he's lonely. More lonely than any of us, even if he'd never admit it."
"He's madly in love with you, isn't he?" Leon asked next.
Shiera's expression shifted—amusement, mostly, with a hint of something resigned. "He is. Like most in that court." She crossed her arms, the gesture somehow elegant despite his oversized clothes. "They all fall eventually. The beautiful bastard girl with the mismatched eyes. So exotic. So forbidden." Her voice dripped with practiced disdain.
"And you don't care?"
She blinked at him, those heterochromatic eyes wide with genuine surprise—like he'd asked why water was wet.
"Right..." Leon trailed off, understanding dawning.
Shiera didn't love them. Didn't love anyone, probably. She shared beds, yes. Manipulated, definitely. Collected hearts like trophies and watched with cool satisfaction as men tore each other apart over her. But love? Actual feeling? That wasn't part of the game.
Leon pulled his hands from her shoulders.
"Then maybe they are the same from the books... but from a different reality or something," he muttered, frowning. The pieces were fitting together strangely. Same names, same histories, but younger. Different in small ways. Parallel versions, maybe. Close enough to recognize, different enough to surprise him.
"Why are you so thoughtful?" Shiera stepped closer, pressing her palm against his chest. "If you're that worried about my maidenhood..." She smiled—that dangerous, knowing smile. "Take it. I'm offering it to you."
Her other hand grabbed his shirt, tugging like she might tear it.
Leon caught her wrist. Gently but firmly removed her hand.
"Don't give it to someone randomly just because you find them interesting." He met her mismatched eyes, serious. "Since you're here now, think of it as a chance for a new life. Take it. Try to love decently."
He turned away toward his small dresser, searching for clothes to wear.
Behind him, Shiera's voice came soft but clear. "I don't want to live decently."
Her hand caught the back of his shirt, pulling him toward her.
Leon turned, exasperated. "We're leaving soon. Can you just give me a break, Shiera?"
She smiled again.
"Yes."
Looking at her, Leon could definitely tell that she was a major point in the Blackfyre Rebellion. And he couldn't blame all these men being obsessed with her.
"Get ready. We're leaving in ten minutes."