Lucien’s POV

I watched Ivy’s pale face flush scarlet as she downed glass after glass, not just the red wine but the harder liquor meant for seasoned wolves. Her throat worked quickly, desperate, as if each swallow was a rebellion against the stares piercing into her from every corner of the hall.

“Stupid woman,” I muttered beneath my breath, raising my own glass for a sip.

The inevitable came. Her body swayed, her head tilted, then she tumbled from her chair, the goblet clattering ...