She will die on Traitor's Hill tomorrow.
"I came to say goodbye," Wyldon says, upon entering her cell. He examines her, how harsh and blunt her edges have become since Jonathan's coronation.
"That is very kind of you," Cythera responds, "but it isn't your real reason for being here."
He smiles crookedly. "You always did know how to read me."
With this, a hint of their former intimacy, she softens a little bit. "I hear that you're marrying Vivenne of Rosemark in a fortnight."
"That is true."
"It is a very hasty engagement, Wyldon. I do hope that you know what you're doing."
He sighs. "The first child will not be mine, but I have high hopes for the ones to come after. Cythera-"
"Yes?" She raises an eyebrow. "Are you finally going to speak bluntly with me, Wyl?"
"It didn't have to be this way. I don't want to go tomorrow and see my former fiancee hang- and you will, Cythera, you will hang if you don't make an appeal for clemency and play informant. The people you are trying to protect are dead, gods help them! Delia has told us almost everything, and I cannot imagine you are hiding more."
"The amount of what you don't know could fill an ocean," she responds, smiling sadly, "and I will go to my death knowing that I am a better person than Delia of Eldorne."
"That's arguable," Wyldon remarks. "I don't want to see you dead, Cyth."
"You can't save me anymore," she bites her lip. "Come close, please. For one last moment."
He kisses her for the final time through bars.
The next morning, Wyldon oversleeps.