Chapter 17 · The King's Jealousy

"Get your hands off him!"

Grom’s fist slammed into the stone wall. The impact rattled my teeth. Dust rained from the ceiling, coating us in gray grit, but Sloane didn't flinch.

Her fingers stayed locked around my throat.

She wasn't choking me. Not yet. But her thumb was pressed hard against my pulse, and I could feel her breathing—fast, jagged, hot.

"I said get off," Grom snarled. He filled the doorway, shoulders scraping the frame. His eyes were locked on where Sloane had me pinned. "You're hurting him."

"I'm handling him," Sloane snapped. She finally looked at him, her lip curling in a sneer. "You burst in here like a child. Learn to knock, Your Majesty."

"Don't call me that." Grom took a step in. The floorboards groaned. "I saw you. You had him by the throat like a dog."

"And you saw wrong," I managed to choke out. My voice sounded like I'd swallowed glass. "Sloane? Maybe loosen the grip? Just a bit? For the guy who can't breathe?"

Her eyes flicked back to mine. Close up, I could see the gold flecks in her black irises. Her pupils were blown wide.