Page 16 of The Sheikh's Secret Heir

“Of course, Habibi,” I reply, the stress of my worries momentarily lifting as I crawl into bed beside him.

His small hand finds mine, and I’m struck by how much comfort this simple gesture brings. Before Ali, I never even thought about becoming a father beyond the normal expectations of providing an heir to the throne. The moment I first saw him, though, everything changed. All of my previous priorities slipped away like grains of sand, leaving nothing behind, as if they were never there.

“Guess what?” I whisper, leaning close as if to share a grand secret. “When you’re all better, I will have Amina take you to the beach.”

“Really?” The beach is an adventure, a rare treat that lies beyond these protective walls.

“Really.”

“Will you come too, Abba?” Ali’s question tugs at me, pulling at the corners of my heart. I want nothing more than to say yes, to be just another father and son playing in the sand, oblivious to the world’s prying eyes.

“Ah, my little prince,” I murmur, tracing the curve of his cheek with a tender stroke. “I wish I could, but…” My voice trails off, tangled in a net of half-truths and unsaid words.

“Is it because of your meetings?” Hope fades from his voice, replaced by resigned understanding far too heavy for his six years.

“Something like that,” I admit, the lie bitter on my tongue.

If only he knew what’s really at play — how the world would react if they knew he was my son. Not only do I need to prevent a political crisis; I also need to protect Ali. People are not kind to those born out of wedlock. Especially not in our exclusive world.

“Okay,” he says, a forced smile attempting to mask his disappointment. “We can still have fun though, right? Here?”

“Always.” I pull him close, cherishing the warmth of his body against mine.

We settle into the rhythm of the movie, and I do my best to distract myself with the simple story. Yet, even as Ali’s laughter dances in the air, my mind drifts to the beaches we cannot walk together, the school gates we cannot pass, and the few outings reduced to a handful of memories.

“Ali,” I begin, the words breaking free before I can restrain them. “There are so many things I want to show you, experiences I yearn to give you.” I pause, swallowing the lump in my throat. “But I must keep you safe, and sometimes that means making hard choices.”

“Like superheroes?” he asks, his innocence making me want to both laugh and cry.

“Exactly like superheroes,” I agree, grateful for the simplicity of his understanding.

We don’t speak for the rest of the movie, and I can feel his energy ebbing. Even though he is getting better, he’s not fully well quite yet. Even before the credits roll, his eyelids flutter closed, surrendering to sleep’s gentle embrace.

Gazing down at my son, I vow to guard his dreams a while longer. For now, let him believe in caped crusaders and daringadventures. One day, I’ll explain why his father wears no cape, why our battles are fought in silence, and why our greatest strength lies not in superpowers, but in the love that binds us, hidden though it may be.

Our story — one of a prince and his hidden heir — unfolds in hushed tones and shadowed corners, a tale of duty and sacrifice written in the sands of a beach we cannot visit together.

CHAPTER 9

TARA

I’m thinking about Ali — and his father — constantly whenever I’m not with them. It’s only when I’m back at Faiz’s palace, stepping into Ali’s room yet again, that I feel like my thoughts can slow down. His small chest rises and falls rhythmically, a testament to the resilience of youth and tender care. He stirs slightly as I approach, and the corners of his mouth twitch upward in a drowsy semblance of a smile.

“Good morning, Ali,” I murmur.

“Doctor Tara,” he says, his voice a sleepy hum. “I feel better.”

“That’s wonderful to hear. I can tell just by listening to you speak that your chest congestion has cleared.”

I feel Faiz’s presence behind me in the doorway. It’s my third visit to Ali, but I doubt Faiz would be absent even if it were my hundredth. He’s a protective parent, and I don’t blame him. While I’ve never been fortunate enough to feel the kind of love that comes with having a child, maybe one day…

I give myself an internal shake, bringing my focus back to the present moment. There’s no point in moping about what I don’thave — namely, a family of my own — especially when I’m here to do a job.

“I do want to listen to your breathing, just to make sure,” I tell Ali, as I pull out my stethoscope.

Indeed, he’s much better. His energy still seems a little low, considering that he’s six and is probably bouncing off the walls under normal conditions. That’s not too concerning, though.

With Ali settled and content, I step out into the hallway, only to find Faiz leaning against the wall, arms crossed, a rare, unguarded smile curving his lips. The sight is disarming, pulling at threads in my heart that really shouldn’t exist in the first place.

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