Zade
"Your Majesty?"
Carla Jackson's voice barely registered in my mind.
She was speaking—I could hear her—but the words blurred together, fading into meaningless noise. I didn't care about what she was saying.
Because my mind was elsewhere.
It was on her.
I clenched my jaw as my eyes found Serena, seated closely across the table, her fiery hair catching the candlelight, her lips curving into a shy smile as Malcom whispered something in her ear.
Something twisted inside me.
I shouldn't care. I have no right to care.
And yet, I do. It's infuriating.
Carla spoke again, something about the Shadowlands, about tonight's gathering. I ignored her. My fingers tapped slowly against the polished wood of the dining table, a steady rhythm that barely contained the simmering rage within me.
I knew this feeling.
Jealousy.
