Lion Head Mesa A fake brother, who steals your jeans.

Before she could further continue the conversation with Belen, Jawahir returned, a magnificent man in tow. He carried himself like a king, his white-gold pelt gleaming and lush, his sapphire eyes trained upon her.

Lilitu, she answered, seduously avoiding Jawahir's gaze. She bowed her head briefly, then looked up again, a plea in her face.

Pharaoh. . .um, Ramesses? Pharaoh Ramesses, Lilitu decided, then barreled on, before he had a chance to question her further: I've come to ask about a pack called Ursus. My sister is with them, and I last ran into her not far from here.

She gently tilted her head, turning on the charm at full thrusters. Do you know where they might be?

As for the marriage alliance thing, she'd cross that bridge. Eventually. And maybe she wouldn't have to. 

Keep stalling. . .