Page 19 of The Sheikh's Secret Heir

The irony isn’t lost on me, as I’ve also denied myself the larger world. That’s the saddest truth of it all: I fear that Ali might turninto an adult such as myself, timid and unable to properly make friends even when he wants to.

“Faiz is… complicated,” Amina adds, pulling me back from the precipice of depression. “His love for Ali is boundless, yet somehow still bound. And we must respect that, even when it breaks our hearts.”

I stand, walking to the window that looks onto the pool and the gardens beyond. There’s a lot to do in this palace, but nothing outside even suggesting a child lives here. No play structure, no toys littered about.

“Maybe one day.” My murmur is both a wish and a prayer. For Ali. For Faiz. For myself. “Maybe one day, Amina, things will change.”

CHAPTER 10

FAIZ

Ipace the length of the first-floor corridor again and again, surprised I haven’t yet worn a hole into the floor. The bluntness of my response to Tara sits heavy on my chest, along with a suit of armor I never asked for but wear every day — the crown prince, always in control.

Except today, control slipped through my fingers, and I lashed out at her, at Tara, who only ever shows compassion.

The gentle touch of sunlight filters through the high windows, casting patterns that remind me of the way her blond hair glints in the light. But the warmth is lost on me. It’s as if I’m wandering through the shell of what was once a home, but is now just a stage for royal duties and silent battles fought behind closed doors.

Before she can leave, I must face her. I need to make things right — or as right as they can be when you’re trapped by birthright and expectation.

It’s as if the universe knows exactly what I want and need. Footsteps sound behind me, and I turn around to see her walking briskly down the hallway, her back to me.

“Dr. Hague,” I call out, her name nearly catching in my throat. “Tara,” I correct.

Yes, we’re on a first-name basis, but is that right? Especially after the interaction we just had in the breakfast room, perhaps it’s better to remain as professional as possible?

It’s not what my heart wants. Not in a million years. But in my life — in my situation — what my heart wants is so often what needs to come last.

She turns, her eyes meeting mine with a guarded expression, and I recognize the wall she has put up. It’s not unlike my own.

“Your Highness?” Her tone is professional, and it saddens me that she’s addressing me in such a formal way.

Was I really that much of a jerk to her?

Yes. Of course I was.

All because of what I have to protect — Ali, my country, myself. Can she understand that? Or would it be as difficult as me trying to imagine what life is like on Mars?

“Please, come into my office. There’s something we need to discuss.” I don’t wait for her consent; instead, I lead the way, trusting she’ll follow.

Inside the confines of my office, where it smells like old books and the housekeeper’s cleaning products, I close the door and turn to face her. She stands there, the picture of poise, buther hands betray a slight tremor. I’ve affected her, and the knowledge tightens my throat.

“Tara.” I clear my throat. “I may have been too harsh earlier. You must understand, everything I do… it’s for Zahrania.”

She watches me, her gaze searching. “And Ali? Is it best for him?”

The question strikes a chord, a note of pain that resonates deep within. Ali, my son, my unintended secret — a life altered before it truly began.

“Zahrania is bigger than any one person,” I say, though each word feels like a betrayal of the fatherly instinct that fights to surface. “Ali’s future, his very existence, it’s enmeshed with the fate of this country.”

There’s a moment of silence, a wagonful of unsaid thoughts between us. I see the wheels turning behind Tara’s thoughtful eyes. She’s piecing together the fragments of my world, understanding more than I wish her to know.

“His upbringing, while unique, is designed to prepare him for what lies ahead,” I add, hoping to dispel her doubts. I lean against the desk, steadying myself against it. “I also hope you understand that if anyone were to find out about Ali, it would be utter chaos. It could weaken our country, that kind of…”

“Scandal?” she prompts, though with no hint of judgment.

“Yes,” I admit, the word a bitter pill. “Scandal.”

For a moment, silence stretches thin between us, before she finally breaks it. “There’s more to life than scandal and duty,” Tara says gently.

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