The Royal Fae And His Queen.

"Fayetta!" I hear my father boom. As soon as my name leaves his lips I knew I was done for. Any time he calls if I'm not there the second after, I get a lashing. A lashing for every second I'm late. My feet hit the gold carpet, barely making a sound. The perks of being a Fae. Fayetta, named after my birth mother means "little fairy". She died a year after I was born. Unluckily for me, my father had women on rotation, and picked his favorite to take over as Queen, and since then, my life has been so dire I would rather die. But being Fae, our average age expectancy is 1000 years old, and currently I'm 19. Doing it to myself is also not an option. If I did that I would be cursed in the afterlife. I walk towards my father. His wife, Queen Aletha, sits in her throne of thorns, a smug smile on her face. "Yes father?" He looks down at me, gray eyes cold, distant. The heart of a cruel man. "I have sold you to another clan. A peace treaty so to speak. I need you to wash, dress in your best dress, and report back here within half an hour." "You sold me?" I asked shocked. I look around the room, covered in thorns and vines, with every colored rose you could think of littering the walls. All of my fathers men look downward, cowardly, not meeting my eyes. "But father..." "Get out of my sight," he says turning around. I do as I'm told. I leave.