# Chapter 28
Marcus's decline, gradual for months, accelerated with a suddenness that caught even the doctors by surprise.
He collapsed during a quiet afternoon in the library, nothing dramatic — simply a sudden weakness that sent him to the floor before anyone could reach him in time.
Elena found him there, and the scream that brought half the palace running haunted Angelo for weeks afterward.
Marcus recovered enough, within hours, to speak, to reassure his frightened family that he was, for now, still present, still fighting, still theirs. But something in the room had shifted permanently, a truth none of them could continue postponing.
"I want to see the wedding," Marcus said that evening, from his bed, his voice thinner than it had been even a month earlier. "I've decided that. Whatever else happens, I intend to see my sister married."
"You will," Elena said fiercely, holding his hand. "We'll move the date up if we have to."
"Elena—"
"We'll move the date."
Marcus looked at his sister, then at Angelo, standing quietly near the door.
"Take care of her," he said again, the same request from months earlier, heavier now with everything that had happened since. "Truly, this time. Not as a favor to a dying man's wish. Because you love her enough to mean it."
"I do," Angelo said. "Every day, a little more than the day before."
Marcus smiled, weak but genuine.
"Then move the date," he said. "I find I'm suddenly quite impatient to see it."
---
The wedding was moved to six weeks out, a scandalously fast timeline by royal standards, though no one who understood the reason behind it dared to voice objection.
Elena threw herself into preparation with a fierce, almost desperate energy, determined to build something joyful fast enough to outrun the sorrow gathering steadily at the edges of her family's life.
Angelo, for his part, requested and received an extended posting to Valoria — an arrangement between the two governments that would have seemed impossible a year earlier, but now carried the quiet blessing of both a King grateful beyond measure and a Sanjaran military eager to maintain the diplomatic goodwill Angelo's presence had generated.
"You're really staying," his old commanding officer said, during a brief video call arranged through the embassy. "Permanently."
"It seems that way."
"You're marrying a princess, Sanchez."
"It seems that way too."
His commander laughed, the sound crackling faintly through the connection. "I always knew that Friday afternoon patrol would be the death of you. I simply expected it differently."
"So did I," Angelo admitted, smiling despite himself. "So did I."