Isra Maram was fuming. Actually, fuming didn't even quite cover it. And yet she still sat silently and properly poised in an ornately decorated chair as her assorted servants bustled around her. Her long, thick brown hair was being carefully brushed and tidied by two, while another two were moisturizing and lightly perfuming her skin with oils of rose. If she was honest with herself, being so taken care of did feel quite lovely, but that was not the point! It was the reason for the excessive pampering that was causing her blood to boil. Not two days ago, her father had called her to his quarters after not seeing her for several weeks only to announce that she was being married?! To some pompous, royal bastard twice her age? Thrown into his harem of wives? Her fists and jaw clenched reflexively at the thought. "It is for your safety, my sweet." It took all of her will-power not to spit on the ground at the thought. That was all her father had to say at her outrage. Well, his initial reaction, anyway. When her voice had continued to rise and her dark gaze flashed and broiled in that rebellious light he recognized all-too well, he quickly silenced her and demanded her exit. She knew he would not have hit her then; he could not risk bruising a king's young bride. But she had also learned that her father had other tactics to employ in order to make her life miserable...and when she had to stop pushing him over the line. She had ever-so-maturely muttered several curses under her breath and slammed the large door on her way out, though. Sure, he might have referred to it as a tantrum, but it was so beyond that. She had rushed to her own quarters, buried her face in her pillow and simply screamed. She wanted outside. But she could not get even close to it without another guard breathing down her neck. Typically it was Azrael and while he was the one she tolerated, was it too much to ask for some privacy?! Even in the haven of her room, servants quietly came and left, setting assorted fruits and drinks out for her and wishing her congratulations and a good marriage. "M'lady, please relax, we cannot finish this with you tense like this." She was jerked back into reality by the timid voice of the young female servant holding assorted cosmetics and clearly flustered in her failed attempts to properly apply and blend them due to the princess's furrowed brow. Isra exhaled a long, slow breath and forced herself to relax. "I apologize, Lina. My thoughts ran away with me," she conceded, to which the woman - she seemed more a girl to Isra - became even further disheveled. "N-no, i-it is fine." Guilt briefly crept through Isra's veins but she quickly dismissed it and closed her eyes when requested. Every fiber of her being was telling her to run - escape while she could. But that was just the issue. The palace was festering with guards and the damn-near impenetrable wall was even worse. Her only chance to even catch a glimpse of the outside world anymore was in this stupid convoy! And even then, she would be constantly attended to. She was aware that she would, eventually, have to submit to a life without time to herself to do as she pleased...but she had yet to completely succumb to the idea. That just was simply not her style. Like a wild horse that refused to be broken. By the time her internal self-wallowing was done, she had been dressed in the long, red skirt elegantly lined and detailed in silver. The top was matched, though emphasized her figure and revealed her sun-kissed mid-drift. Silver and gold bangles were slipped upon her wrists and ankles and in the back of her mind she saw them only as shackles. All of that beautiful ceremonial garbage for something she wanted no part in. Her feet were slipped into elegant slippers before her thoughts could get too carried away while the remaining attendants twined several flowers into her hair. They stepped back once finished and smiled happily at her before bowing. "You look wonderful. We wish for only happiness in your future." Her throat closed just a bit as a lump formed there. There was sincerity in their voices and she had to force a small, sad smile before nodding. "Thank you. I appreciate all you have done for me over the years." It was true - her servants had been like family, much to her father's disdain...again. "Might I...have a moment alone before I must go?" They nodded and dismissed themselves. She took this moment to scurry to her secret little nook in the wall behind her mirror. As she passed it, she was forced to take in her appearance. The make up was a tad overdone for her, but they had done a lovely job. If only her eyes reflected the happiness that she had always thought would come along with this moment. Instead, the dark brown irises broiled with contained frustration. She ignored this and slid the panel aside, revealing a box with her two most prized possessions: the daggers given to her by Raj before he had been dismissed. She smiled sadly, but knew she could not dwell on the gorgeous, sheathed blades long. She hurried and carefully brushed aside and lifted the slit in the skirt up to her waist. She lifted her left leg to strap one high up on her thigh and then did the same with the other on the opposite one. Like hell she would leave without them but, of course, she had not been allowed to pack her bags herself. She growled at the thought but, once finished, stepped back to see if they were too noticeable. Luckily for her, the skirt flared out just enough to keep them hidden, at least from those that did not need to know they were there, anway. "Princess Isra, the escorts await you." She jumped when she heard the familiar, masculine voice of Azrael at her door but quickly calmed herself. She could do this. Perhaps a plan of escape would strike her on the journey - she could only wait and see. She emerged from her room and followed silently behind the man who had protected her since she was twelve. He had only been seventeen at the time, but was ever the picture of the appropriate and apt guardian. And for him, this whole situation just seemed so odd. This was not who she was...although he supposed it was the difficulties of her role in society. He also knew, though, that there was a reason he was assigned to continue to follow her. Her father expected some sort of resistance from her at some point and didn't trust the other king's entourage, either. At any rate, he supposed he at least got a trip out of it...and just pretended not to notice the little surprises she kept at her hips. He was trained to be attentive to all things involving her, after all... Demure had never been a word that could ever describe Isra. She still stood tall with her shoulders back and her chin held high. She refused to leave the castle any other way. She was escorted down and outside where a rather ornate, enclosed carriage waited, pulled by several gorgeous horses that tossed their heads restlessly as the men around them shifted to attention and greeted her. Her father received her first, placing a light kiss to her forehead. "Please be a good wife, my love." There were too many people in earshot for her to do anything more but bow her head and answer with a quiet "Yes, Father." Tears burned at the back of her eyes but she forced them away. She would not depart that way. She was soon handed from her father to an unfamiliar attendant, garbed in unusual clothing who announced himself as her driver for their trip. She greeted him, but was brushed aside as Azrael took it upon himself to assist her into the windowed but enclosed carriage, instead. He mounted one of the kingdom's horses while she carefully sat, cautious of the blades on either thigh before sitting back and flinching as the carriage jerked into motion shortly after. She exhaled a slow sigh. Well, she was alone in the carriage at least, so no one saw the tear slide down her cheek only to be just as quickly wiped away. Her guard adjusted the sheath of his sword across his back and gripped the reigns, making a point to keep beside the door of the carriage with a final glance back over his shoulder.