The Wrong Name on His Lips

Summary

The day they held me down and forced the bitter draught down my throat, a pool of blood spread beneath me on the cold stone floor.

My voice had been stolen by a poison, and all I could do was make desperate, clicking sounds with my tongue, trying to tell Lord Damian it was his child I was losing.

But his handsome face was a mask of ice, his voice a lash.

"Pregnant before marriage. Trysting with another man. Do you know your sin, Lyra?"

He had forgotten. At the midwinter feast, it was he who drank the spiced wine, he who cornered me, he who forced himself upon me.