# Chapter 13
The Crown Prince returned to Valoria on a grey Thursday morning, three weeks earlier than the official announcement had promised.
Elena was the first to reach the courtyard.
"You're early."
"I discharged myself," Prince Marcus said, stepping down from the car with more effort than he let show. "The doctors were beginning to bore me."
"That's not how discharge works."
"It is when you're a prince."
She hugged him carefully, aware of the way he favored his left side.
"You look thin," she said.
"I look recovering."
"You look thin and recovering."
Marcus laughed, and for a moment he looked almost like himself.
Angelo stood a respectful distance away, near the entrance, until Marcus noticed him.
"So you're the soldier."
Angelo straightened. "Lieutenant Sanchez, Your Highness."
"Elena's letters mentioned you more than she probably realized."
"Marcus," Elena said, warning in her voice.
"I'm simply making conversation." Marcus extended a hand. "Thank you for what you did for our parents."
Angelo shook it. "I only did—"
"Your job. Yes, I've heard. Twice, in three different languages, from two different newspapers." Marcus smiled, though it cost him something. "You'll have to find a new sentence eventually."
Despite himself, Angelo laughed.
---
That evening, the family gathered for a quiet dinner — no ministers, no staff beyond what was necessary, the kind of meal Angelo had come to understand was rare inside the palace.
Marcus ate less than everyone else. Angelo noticed. So, he suspected, did the Queen, though she said nothing.
Only the King seemed not to notice, too pleased at having his son home to see past the careful way Marcus arranged food on his plate without actually eating much of it.
After dinner, Marcus caught Angelo alone near the terrace doors.
"Walk with me."
Angelo followed him outside.
"You're wondering why I don't eat," Marcus said, without preamble.
"I wasn't going to ask."
"No. You're too disciplined for that." Marcus leaned against the railing. "But you noticed. I could see you noticing."
"Occupational hazard."
Marcus almost smiled. "That's what my sister says about you."
Angelo said nothing.
"I'm not going to tell you what's wrong with me," Marcus said. "I haven't told my parents, and I'm not prepared to explain to a stranger what I haven't found the courage to say to my own father."
"Then don't."
Marcus looked at him, surprised.
"I'm not here to pry into things that aren't mine," Angelo said. "I'm here because your father asked me to come, and because I gave him my word about something I still don't fully understand."
"What word?"
Angelo hesitated. "That's between your father and me."
Marcus studied him for a long moment, and something in his expression shifted — not suspicion exactly, but a kind of careful recalculation.
"You really don't want anything from us," he said slowly. "Do you."
"No."
"That's rare in this family's experience."
"I imagine it is."
Marcus looked out at the gardens, quiet for a while.
"Take care of my sister," he said finally. "Whatever this is — whatever it becomes — she deserves someone who isn't counting what he stands to gain."
"I'm not—" Angelo started.
"I know what you're not," Marcus said. "I'm telling you what I hope you'll be."
He walked back inside before Angelo could answer, leaving him alone on the terrace with the weight of a promise he hadn't quite agreed to, and couldn't quite deny.