The Sheikh’s Secret Heir (Sheikhs and Sweethearts #3)

10. Faiz

CHAPTER 10

FAIZ

I pace 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, but her 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.

Her words should sting, but instead they feel like a lifeline thrown out to me. A whisper of a reality where things might be different.

“Ali needs more than tutors and bodyguards. He needs to run, to play… he needs friends his own age.” The raw emotion in her voice steals the air from my lungs.

Too much is at stake — too much for even Tara to comprehend. And yet, I find myself unable to deny the truth of her words. “I understand,” I say quietly.

“Do you?” Her eyes are stormy pools of challenge.

I take a deep breath and cross my arms over my chest — a defensive gesture because her words, her concern for Ali, tear at the facade I’ve built to protect my heart. “I do,” I reply, a tremor in my voice. “But understanding doesn’t make the reality any less complicated.”

She seems taken aback, a flicker of surprise crossing her face. Then she nods, the slightest tilt of her head that feels more like a confession than an agreement. “I understand that too,” she says quietly, “But it doesn’t mean we should stop trying — for Ali.”

The silence settles between us again, demanding space yet pulling us closer together.

“To grow up without friends…” She bites her lip and looks away, an unexpected gesture that hints at something intensely personal.

“I know it sounds harsh.” I sigh. “I’ve lived most of my life under the same constraints Ali is now experiencing. But it’s not without reason.”

She looks back at me then, her hazel eyes flickering with a mix of sorrow and determination. “And what reason could justify denying a child his innocent joys?”

“The safety of Zahrania,” I reply, reluctantly letting the words tumble out. “The stability of our nation is bound to our family, intricately woven into every decision we make.”

There it is again. I’m attempting to explain this, not for the first time, and it is still lost on her. In some ways, we are from different worlds.

Her mouth opens to protest, but she shuts it just as quickly. Her gaze drops to the carpet beneath her feet, a hint of defeat marring her usual composure.

“I see.” She lifts her face.

I nod, wishing I had more to say but only being able to leave it at that. At the end of the day, at the end of it all, I am doing what is right.

“Thank you for coming today,” I say softly.

“You’re welcome.” She glances at the grandfather clock. “I do need to get to the main palace. I need to update some paperwork there.”

“Of course,” I say swiftly, wishing she weren’t leaving but also knowing that the less time she spends here the better.

I stride toward the door to escort her out, reaching for the handle just as she does. Our hands brush, and a jolt of electricity arcs between us, sparking something forbidden. I reel back slightly, caught in the stormy sea of her gaze.

“Sorry,” we both mutter in unison, a small moment of levity in the tension.

Tara bites her bottom lip, pink spreading across her cheeks.

“I should go,” she whispers, her eyes shuffling between my gaze and the door handle. There’s a wistful pull in her voice, one that mirrors my own silent plea for her to stay.

“Of course,” I mumble, stepping back to allow her passage.

The air shifts as she navigates past me, leaving a lingering scent of lavender and something uniquely Tara. It fills the room as surely as regret does my heart.

As the door closes behind her, I find myself rooted to the spot, every sound magnified in the silence that follows her departure. The tick-tick-ticking of the grandfather clock seems louder now, and I don’t quite know what to do with myself.

With a sigh, I return to my desk. It’s cold and smooth under my palms as I lean on it, my thoughts twisting like a whirlwind. There is so much at stake — too much — and yet when I close my eyes and imagine Tara, all of that falls away.

For a blissful moment here and there, whenever I lose myself to fantasies of her, it’s as if all the troubles of the world no longer matter. What matters is how her laugh sounds or how her eyes dance with life and charm, how those small moments get etched on my heart forever.

But reality, with its harsh edges and cold touch, always has a way of seeping back in, and if I don’t manage it, then no one else will.