Jealousy in this capacity is not something Mark has much experience in. Every revel with the party goers fawning over the Unseelie Prince his eyes were on the half-fae. It would be easier to say he was envious of cup of coffee, warm and nourishing, not something he had a taste for anymore but a cup of the beverage could often be spotted in her hands. A corner of his mouth twitches up at the jest. If only.
He finds himself in a version shock at the rose’s candor. “I’ve never seen Kieran look at anyone else,” he admits. Jealousy does not feel like it encompasses what he feels, but it’s the closest thing. The territory is new. He remembers when Kieran had forbade him from giving Cristina any bit of his heart, but here with them things are new. “Not with every faerie at a revel begging for him to just look at them.”
Lips press firmly together, “Jealousy does not feel like the proper term. I am not envious.”