Naiobe finds herself admiring the dryad, her expression softening. She breathes the enchanting scent in as the dryad comes closer, and reaches out to brush her arm lightly. Naiobe blinks slowly as she keeps her eyes on the creature, admiring the way that her skin seems to have whorls and eddies in it, just as the wood of her tree does. And that beautiful voice is ...<br/><br/>... is a trap of some sort. Naiobe's expression hardens as the fog washes from her mind, then blinks rapidly. The dryad had... no. Unacceptable. Her whole body stiffens with anger, and her hand tightens on the dryad's arm, and then tightens some more, and more, until her grip becomes quite painful. Despite her size, she is not quite the delicate, fragile woman she appears to be, and her hands are strong.<br/><br/>"No," she says softly, her voice shaking a little with rage. "Never, never do something like that to me. You must<em>earn</em>favour, not charm it with magic." She drags the dryad toward the stone bench that the Baron sat on before, hauling the lissome body of the dryad over the top of it. Her grip slips a few times, but each time she catches it and prevents the dryad from slipping away. Forcing the dryad to kneel there over the bench, one hand firmly on the dryad's back, Naiobe leans down. "Do you understand?" she murmurs into the dryad's ear.