She rounds on her surely for that - and she shouts right back. Ire is always something fed right back into. The square of her shoulders the roll of her weight into a stance half ready to fight. Half on the backfoot, heel dug down and that steady tense muscles that make her ready to jump. If being dressed in a saree would stop someone else, apparently, from being ready to bolt, it doesn't occur to her. "Then stop being surprised when we don't trust you simply for taking us in!"

But she does, mercifully, actually, shut up the hell up. Taking one, low, slow breath that she forces herself to ease back. "Very well, do as you must. I have given my word to follow it."