"I need clothes."
Leon said it the moment he stepped into the store with Shiera. The same store he'd brought Visenya and Rhaenys to. Not because he had any particular loyalty to the place—he rarely shopped for clothes, preferring to torture his wardrobe until the fabric basically disintegrated. When he did need something new, supermarkets usually did the trick. Cheap. Easy. No fuss.
He didn't care much about fashion sense. Never had. Go with the flow, wear what fits, don't think too hard about it.
The only reason he'd come to this actual clothing store back then was to please the Queen sisters. And because, well, as a fan, he'd wanted them to look beautiful. It was a stupid reason. He knew that. But it was the truth.
Today's reason was slightly different. He just found it easier to buy clothes here—the quality was decent, the selection was fine, and he wouldn't have to spend hours wandering from store to store. Time saved. Boredom avoided.
Simple.
The clerk who had attempted to help him before was at the counter. Leon walked toward her, Shiera half a step behind.
The woman looked up. Froze.
Her eyes darted to him first—and something flickered there, like she recognized him but also didn't. He was taller, wasn't he? His face looked different. Sharper. More defined.
Then her gaze shifted to Shiera.
And stopped.
Shiera stared back with those mismatched eyes—emerald and sapphire, calm and unreadable. The clerk's mouth parted slightly. Her hands went still on the counter. It was like she'd been put under a spell, trying to figure out if the woman in front of her was real or some kind of hallucination.
Leon understood the reaction. The same thing had happened with Visenya and Rhaenys. That poor clerk had probably spent the last few hours wondering if she'd imagined those two silver-haired beauties. And now here was another one—even more striking, if that was possible—standing in her store with the same guy, who somehow looked different enough to make her question her sanity all over again.
"Hey." Leon snapped his fingers in front of her face. "Wake up."
She blinked rapidly. "Y-Yes?"
"I need you to help her with clothes." He gestured to Shiera. "Take her measurements. Full sets—everything. Can you do that?"
His tone started rough, but he softened it at the end.
"Of course! Yes, please!" The clerk's voice pitched higher with enthusiasm, or nerves, or both. She stepped around the counter, approaching Shiera like she was walking toward something sacred.
"You're... truly beautiful, miss," she breathed, studying Shiera's face like she was memorizing every detail.
"I know." Shiera's voice was flat.
Leon sighed. "Can you get to work? We're on a schedule here."
He glanced around the store. People were already looking. Nothing obvious—no one was staring openly—but he could feel the weight of eyes sliding their way. Shiera drew attention without even trying. Like she radiated some kind of magnetic field that made people want to look at her.
He frowned, turning back to her.
"You didn't do any weird magic, did you?" The question came out before he could stop it. He had no idea how magic worked in this world—not really—but some of them could definitely pull off subtle manipulation. Glamours. Compulsions. The kind of thing that made people see what you wanted them to see.
Shiera gave him a dry stare.
"I don't need such things."
"Yet you bathed in blood to keep your beauty, from what I've heard." Leon scoffed, the words slipping out before his brain caught up.
Shiera's expression flickered. "Bathe in blood?"
Leon's mouth pressed into a line. Right. Younger version. She didn't know about that yet. The blood baths. The rumors. The dark reputation she would grow into.
"Forget it." He shook his head, waving a hand dismissively. "You're the younger version. It hasn't happened yet."
Shiera's mismatched eyes lingered on him for a moment longer, something unreadable in them, before she turned and followed the clerk toward the fitting area.
Leon exhaled slowly, running a hand through his silver-streaked hair.
He needed to be more careful about what he said. These weren't book characters anymore. They were real people, standing in front of him, shaped by futures they hadn't lived yet.
The clerk glanced back at him nervously, still clutching her measuring tape. Leon just nodded at her to continue and leaned against a display rack, keeping his eyes on the store entrance.
Waiting. Watching.
In his peripheral vision, he caught Shiera pausing at the curtain to the fitting rooms. She looked back at him over her shoulder—just for a second—and smiled.
Then she disappeared inside.
Leon turned his gaze back to the door.
This was going to take a while.
Leon glanced around the store while the clerk attended to Shiera. "I might as well pick clothes for myself," he muttered under his breath.
He had thousands in his pocket now—money taken shamelessly from a dead man whose body was somewhere at the bottom of the river. The thought should have bothered him more than it did.
It didn't bother him at all.
He wandered through the men's section, grabbing things without much thought. Jeans. Shirts. A jacket. A few pairs of underwear. His fashion sense was nonexistent—he'd never cared about looking good, never had a reason to. Practicality was all that mattered. Clothes that lasted, clothes that didn't draw attention.
Besides, his body had changed a bit. Taller now. Broader. The clothes he owned before wouldn't fit anymore. That was reason enough to shop.
As he moved through the aisles, he could hear the clerk's excited squeals from the fitting area. Every time Shiera came out in a new dress, that woman lost her mind a little more. Leon grimaced. The noise was drawing eyes—customers pretending to browse but clearly tracking the commotion.
He let it slide. Let Shiera have her moment. She was probably enjoying it anyway.
Half an hour passed. Leon had circled the entire store twice, grabbed everything he needed, and was starting to get impatient. He walked back toward the fitting cabins.
Empty.
His stomach dropped.
Why was he panicking? It wasn't like he had any obligation to her. She wasn't his responsibility. She'd chosen to follow him—he hadn't asked for it. But the panic was there anyway, hot and irrational, tightening his chest. She'd saved his life. Pulled him from death when he'd already let go. That meant something. It had to mean something.
"Shiera!"
He called out, louder than intended, turning in place as his eyes scanned the store.
Then he spotted the silver-gold hair.
She was in the women's lingerie section.
Leon moved toward her immediately, weaving through racks of silks and lace. The clerk was there too, of course—hovering at Shiera's shoulder like a devoted handmaiden, a basket of clothes hanging from her arm. She'd definitely been using Shiera as a personal model.
"I think that's enough," Leon said from behind them.
The clerk jumped, spinning around with wide eyes. "Oh! Sir..."
Leon looked at the basket in her hands. Bras. Panties. More lingerie. The clerk was holding it like it was her job to carry Shiera's things.
He wanted to ask why she was acting like a servant, but the words died in his throat when Shiera turned.
"Is this good?"
She held up a set of silver lingerie—bra and panties in her pale hands, delicate lace catching the store lights.
Leon stared.
He'd been through a lot in the past day. Drowned. Resurrected. Absorbed three Targaryen kings into his soul. Beat two men half to death in the street. But standing here, in the middle of a lingerie section, with Shiera Seastar holding up underwear and asking for his opinion?
His brain froze.
When he recovered, his voice came out rougher than intended. "Does that really matter?"
The women nearby—shoppers who'd been watching Shiera like she was some kind of celestial vision—turned on him instantly.
"Did you hear that?"
"Can't believe it."
"Oh, did he just say that to her? She's literally a goddess."
"Hey!" One of them called out to Shiera, emboldened by her friend's support. "You can definitely do better than him! I promise you."
"Yeah, seriously. How about coming with us instead?"
Leon shot them a look. Were women always this meddlesome?
"Leonhart."
He glanced back at Shiera.
"You told me I should wear these." She held the lingerie up again, right in front of his face, mismatched eyes steady on his.
He exhaled. "Alright. Just pick a couple and make it quick. It's fine." Then he turned to the clerk, voice flat. "Show her. Hurry up."
"Yes! Of course! Right away!"
Another ten minutes. Leon waited near the register, arms crossed, pretending not to notice the lingering stares from other customers. The whispers. The phones pointed in his direction—or more likely, pointed toward where Shiera was.
When she finally emerged with the clerk, they had bags. Lots of bags. Dresses and shirts and jeans and that silver lingerie set that he was absolutely not thinking about.
Leon exhaled through his nose. "Can you hold these aside for us? We need to pick up a few more things. We'll be back."
The clerk smiled, relief evident in her expression. "Of course. No problem at all."
Leon pulled out a fifty and handed it to her. A tip. He'd been short with her earlier—snapped when he shouldn't have. The money wasn't an apology, exactly, but it was something.
Her eyes widened. "Oh! Thank you, sir!"
He just nodded, then turned and walked out of the store, Shiera falling into step beside him.