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He shook his head. “No, thank you.”

Rune’s outstretched hand remained between them, holding out the wine. “Oh, you simplymusttry some.” She forced a smile. “It’s from my vintage collection. This bottle came all the way from the Umbrian mountains on the Continent. Lizbeth uncorked it for us. Here.” She pressed it toward him.

Gideon still didn’t take it. “I don’t drink.”

What?Cold sweat beaded down her back.

Why hadn’t Alex ever mentioned this important fact?

She swallowed, the cup hovering between them. “Are you sure?”

“Very sure.”

Rune’s mind went strangely blank. This had always been the way: pick a suitor, lure him away from the party, then ply him with truth-telling wine. Sometimes she got the information she needed, sometimes she didn’t, but it was never because they refused her.

“Please,” said Gideon, his eyes narrowing as he studied her. “Don’t abstain on my account.”

Oh, I won’t.A sip would relax her and help her reassess before forging a fresh path. Setting down the enchanted cup, she reached for the other.

“Something wrong with that one?”

Rune froze like a rabbit in a snare.

“Wh-what?”

“The wine you offered me. After I refused it, you set it down and took the other.”

Shoot.

“D-did I?”

Shoot. Shoot. Shoot.

He stretched his arm across the back of the sofa, his hand gripping the smooth mahogany frame behind Rune. “You wouldn’t be trying to drug me, would you?” His mouth quirked, as if he were flirting. But his eyes were dark, and the look in them dangerous.

He knows.

What had Alex told her earlier this evening? That if she tried a spell in Gideon’s presence, he would smell the magic on her.

Rune tried not to panic. Every witch’s magic smelled different. Rune was only capable of minor spells and illusions—weak castings—making her magic’s scent hard to detect. Infact, the only person who’d ever recognized the scent of Rune’s magic was Verity. A few months after the revolution, Rune had cast her very first illusion before attending a ball. Verity—who didn’t know Rune then—should have reported her the moment she smelled the magic. Instead, she took Rune aside and told her to be more careful.

They’d been friends ever since.

Even if Gideon suspects me, he has no proof.

She put her cup down and lifted the enchanted one. Cupping the bottom of it with two hands—hiding the spellmark drawn there—she locked eyes with him, pressed the cup to her lips, and took a long swallow.

“If it’s drugged,” she said, coming up for air, “you’ll know in a few minutes.”

Releasing his grip on the polished wood, he bent his elbow and leaned his temple against his fist. “Looking forward to it.”

As the alcohol flooded her, warming her down to her legs, something rushed along with it.

Magic.

Like unruly ivy pushing at the windows of a house, forcing open the locks and letting itself in, she could feelTruth Tellerbreaking down her defenses, loosening her inhibitions, allowing someone to reach in and easily pluck what was inside.

Rune clung to the cup, wondering what the hell she was going to do.