Alora POV
The Fae King is marching through the flowering field. His strides are long, and I have to run to keep up with him. The added weight of the wings on my back, coupled with my injured ankle, I am falling behind. The Fae King is annoyed, but he does slow down.
"What are you wearing?" He snaps at me. "Your wardrobe is hardly befitting of a Princess."
I roll my shoulders back. "I wear what makes me comfortable."
"Your mother will not approve," he scoffs.
"What about you?" I reply. "Do you not care how I look?"
"You are the least of my concerns," he grumbles.
His lack of concern hurts. This man is my father, after all. Does he not care for me at all? He glances over his shoulder and rolls his eyes at me. "It is disrespectful to let your wings drag the ground
