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But Marko wasn’t looking at the view, because he didn’t really want to be here at all.
He wanted to be back in Italy, he wanted to be the man who had just been promoted to Pukovnik—Lieutenant Colonel—and who had been thrilled at his progress in strengthening ties between the minuscule Vela Adian army and their allies in neighbouring Croatia and Italy. He also wanted to be the man who—much of the time—managed to ignore the reality of being a prince.
Sure, he was treated differently in the army—but it was subtle, now, after years of his adamant refusal to be coddled and protected or elevated to a rank he hadn’t earned. He’d earned the respect of his peers through hard work and later through tours of duty. He was Lieutenant Colonel Marko Pavlovic first; Prince Marko only really made an appearance at official royal events, and even that was rare, as his brother—King Lukas—seriously had that all in hand.
It was the greatest stroke of luck that Lukas had been born two years before Marko, rather than the other way around, as Lukas had been the perfect king-in-training since birth. He was everything a king should be, leading Vela Ada through the last few years of political unrest as the Vela Adian parliament had been rocked by scandal and corruption.
Now the dust had—almost—settled, but then Lukas had been diagnosed with cancer.
In the week since Lukas had called him, Marko had been in a fog. He was labelling it fatigue, but it was different from that, really. More a heavy weight of uncertainty and fear.
Lukas—and the royal doctor—had assured Marko and the royal family that Lukas’s form of cancer was highly treatable, and that his prospects of making a full recovery were extremely good. He’d also gone to great lengths to stress that Lukas’s cancer was unrelated to the cancer that had killed their father, the late King Josip.
But Marko couldn’t imagine life without his brother. They might be as different as night and day, but there was no one on this planet Marko respected more than Lukas. Nobody.
Marko couldn’t say for sure that was how Lukas felt about him—but that didn’t really matter. Especially not now.
‘I need you to step up for me, Marko,’ Lukas had said. ‘The island can’t cope with any more turmoil. My people need to feel safe, they need to trust our government and know that we—the heads of state—are in control and incorruptible. You need to be—for once in your life—respectful of your position. Respectful of your responsibilities. You can’t run away any longer.’
Marko had bristled—despite his concern for Lukas he was unable to leave that comment unchallenged. ‘No one would ever dare question my commitment to our military,’ he’d said, his tone hard-edged.
‘Your commitment to training all over the world, you mean?’ Lukas had said. ‘Italy, Australia, the US, France...’
His brother had sighed.
‘Look, I’m incredibly proud of what you’ve achieved in your career, and what you’ve done for our defence alliances—but would it have killed you to spend a bit more time in Vela Ada? To actually be visible to your people? To support them in a way that is tangible to them? Especially over the past few years? Instead, all they see of you is photos in glossy magazines. What was the last article on you? Something about top ten royals in their swimwear... I mean, well done on being number one and all...’ Lukas’s tone had been desert dry ‘...but honestly—you were with a different woman in every single photo. How do you think that looks to our people?’
‘It’s none of their business,’ Marko said firmly.
‘That’s the point,’ Lukas had said—for the first time sounding as tired and unwell as he really was. ‘You’re a prince. Their Prince. It is their business that you’d rather spend your time anywhere but here and with a different woman every week.’
The phone had been silent for long moments.
‘This isn’t going to work, is it?’ said Lukas. ‘I know you’re capable of caretaking my role, but perception is the problem. If people don’t believe in you, they won’t feel safe. And I can’t have that. We’ve worked too hard to prosecute Senator Božic and his allies and rid Vela Ada of this scourge. Look, I know the label’s not entirely accurate, but will they believe in the Playboy Prince? Maybe I can still be active, in between treatments. Try and downplay my illness, and don’t mention it’s cancer...’
His brother was talking faster and faster.
‘Stop,’ Marko said. ‘I’m not the Playboy Prince. Not any more.’ He’d paused, trying to work out what he could say to reassure his brother. He hated hearing his usually impeccably calm and measured brother so anxious. He also hated—as he’d always hated—the way his personal life was even relevant to Vela Adians—and that his brother bought into it too. Surely his years of military service outweighed a selection of photos of him with bikini-clad women? But this wasn’t the time for that argument. ‘I’m engaged,’ he blurted out the moment the idea even partially formed in his brain. ‘I wanted to tell you in person. So you needn’t worry. The Playboy Prince is no more.’
