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The hair on the nape of her neck lifted with his low, dangerous question. For all her rational determination, her body was only too aware of peril.

Margaret had never learned the art of placating bullies, though. She’d always preferred to stand against them. So, she refused to allow her chin to droop or her eyelashes to fall in submission as she replied tartly, “Did you imagine yourself to be charming company, sir? I’m afraid I haven’t witnessed any particularly captivating conversational skills in any of our interactions thus far.”

“Hmm.” He considered her in heavy silence for a long, tense moment before finally starting once more for the final door. “Perhaps you’ll find more to interest you in the wine you drink while you await the emperor.”

She let out a breath of relief.

But his words had been a warning, one she didn’t parse in time. It was only once they were inside that inner parlor, which smelled faintly of an unfamiliar perfume, that he moved to the low table by her usual chair and she belatedly realized what he’d intended.

“Here.” Scooping up the glass of wine, he held it out to her with cool command. “A toast to the emperor’s health would be customary.”

“Ah...” Her tongue darted out to her upper lip to moisten it as she thought rapidly. If she drank that, she would be lost. She knew that with every instinct. “But I could hardly perform a toast alone.”

“So, you refuse to drink the emperor’s health?” The warning in his tone was unmistakable.

Curse it, why didn’t she share her husband’s fluency with social maneuvers?

“Not...at all. But I can’t right now unless...” She cast about desperately, searching for any safe way to refuse the undoubtedly drugged wine. “...Unless you’d care to take a sip and make your own toast from my glass first?”

“Certainly. To the emperor’s health!” His smile was victorious as he raised the glass to his lips and took a small but unmistakable sip. “And to the empire itself, forever,” he finished with deep satisfaction.

Oh no. How could she have been so careless? For a crucial instant, she’d been so lost to Viennese social illusions that she’d forgotten an essential truth. The man she faced now was a vampire, not a human...

And while vampires were denied the intoxicating pleasures of alcohol, they were equally safe from the effects of any medical powders or herbal infusions that might affect this glass. The worst risk he ran with that sip was the possibility of a sour stomach.

And now Margaret had no way out.

The room, full of satin and silk fripperies and perfume, closed in around her with suffocating force as she stood frozen, unable to glimpse any escape from the trap she’d just laid for herself. Still, her mind had not entirely stopped working–so within a moment, she knew the answer.

There was no other option except physical flight—and even if that unlikely attempt did succeed, it would sabotage all of tonight’s plans and ruin her only chance to end this underhanded scheme for good.

I’m sorry, my love, she whispered silently to her husband, who had wished so badly to protect her.

But hadn’t he asked her, a few days ago, whether she trusted him? Margaret did, with all her heart. She trusted all of her allies to play their parts...if she could only be stubborn enough to carry out her own despite its real danger. So, instead of fleeing, she took a deep breath and accepted the glass of sparkling wine from Prince Metternich’s hand. “Very well. To the emperor’s health!”

Holding his triumphant gaze, she lifted the glass to her lips and tossed down a quick, full sip.

The effect was instantaneous. As she lowered the glass, the floor seemed to tilt beneath her; grey fog surged through her vision, and Prince Metternich’s hard fingers closed around her elbow.

“There, now. You had better take a seat, Lady Riven. There will be no more pacing around the bounds of your cage tonight. In fact, let’s have a second sip, just to make certain.”

More cool, sparkling liquid poured between her lips against her will as she landed, too heavy and dizzy to resist, atop the chair. Her head tipped against its cushioned back; as she blinked and blinked again, holding the liquid in her mouth, his face swam in and out of view above her through the swarming grey fog.

“There,” he said. “That is what comes of upstarts poking their noses into the choices of their betters. Enjoy your nap, Lady Riven. You could do with a rest from troublemaking.”

Margaret would have liked to respond with a scathing tirade. Unfortunately, it took all of her mental energy just to resist the dragging pull of sleep and stop herself from automatically swallowing the liquid in her mouth as grey fog deepened all around her.

In the distance, she heard a door open and shut. That sound sent a faint, confusing signal to her brain, but its message didn’t arrive until a long moment later.

Time to move. To play her part, she had one crucial task left.

She refused to admit defeat in this assignment.

Her sluggish body resisted the command...but if Margaret had been the sort of person to give up her goals upon first failure, she would never have become a published scholar in the first place. With all her will, she forced herself forward—and toppled hard onto the floor, landing on her hands and knees with a thud that almost led to disaster.

Just in time, she halted the involuntary swallowing of her throat. Nausea billowed up to mingle with the protests of her bruised body; she endured it all as she aimed herself forward across the carpet, the room spinning around her. In the confusion, she almost thought she heard soft footsteps nearby, but Metternich had never moved so quietly. She dismissed that aural hallucination just as she ignored the fog that filled her vision.

It didn’t matter if she couldn’t see the way anymore; there were far too many potted ferns in this room for her to miss them all.