Zaiman paced backstage as the talk-show host chatted away about something he couldn’t seem to pay attention to. His mind swirled with apprehension bordering on fear, and he rehearsed fragments of his speech again and again in his mind.

Alex appeared before him as he made another turn, and took his hands.

“You know what you need to say,” she told him firmly. “You know what they need to hear.”

“How do you apologize to millions of people?” he asked. “How do you confess to a sin so great?”

She squeezed his hands and touched her forehead to his.

“Listen to me, Zaiman. You are doing the right thing. For your daughter, for your family, for your country, and for yourself. You are strong and regal and wonderful, and I am so very proud of you.”

Her words filled him with strength, reaffirming his conviction, and not a moment too soon. A stagehand gestured for him, and Alex whispered a wish for luck as she gave his hands a parting squeeze. Heart pounding, palms sweating, Zaiman strode onto the stage.

The bright lights set his teeth on edge, but he shielded himself in the armor of regal grace as he marched to his seat. The studio audience radiated a mixture of curiosity and animosity, but he ignored them, choosing instead to focus his mind on the woman who was rooting for him from behind the scenes.

“Welcome, Sheikh Zaiman bin-Tuleb,” the host announced, greeting him with a bow. “Please make yourself comfortable.”

The host’s eyes glinted like a snake. Zaiman knew it was risky to use a talk show as his platform rather than an official press release, but it was a calculated risk. He needed to appear to be approachable, reasonable, and human. It was easy to forgive a human. It was much more difficult to forgive an unknowable governing entity.

“Thank you, Nadim,” he said, returning the bow before taking his seat. “I appreciate you having me on your show.”

“Well, how could I not? You’re all anyone wants to talk about,” Nadim said with a too-white grin. “So tell me, Zaiman…may I call you Zaiman? What do you make of these rumors, that you have a secret daughter?”

The audience responded with a chorus of “ooh”, and Zaiman did his best to block them out. He smiled at the host, and took a breath.

“The rumors are true,” he confessed.

The audience booed, grating on his resolve. Nadim raised his brows in exaggerated surprise.

“Really? A secret child? Would you mind telling us how that came to be?”

Zaiman cleared his throat.

“Many years ago, I was working closely with the Peace Corps to address the problems Al-Jerrain was facing. Many of you remember the crises in the aftermath of the flood, before the infrastructure was rebuilt.”

“Troubling times,” Nadim agreed. “Please, go on.”

“The woman I was working with was an intelligent, passionate volunteer named Alyssa. I was young and she was beautiful; I fell madly in love with her.”

The audience had mixed reactions, but many of the women cooed. Good—adorable was good.

“She fell pregnant unexpectedly,” Zaiman continued. “And I was ashamed. I hid her away until she gave birth to our daughter, Amia. She was killed in a car accident when Amia was still in the cradle.”

A gasp from the crowd spurred him on. They were empathizing; he needed that.

“I needed help. I had an infant daughter and no idea how to care for her. I asked certain members of my family for help, and they did all they could—but this was my secret and my shame, and it was my responsibility to handle it.”

He sighed heavily before continuing. “I did not handle it well. I locked my darling girl away, out of the public eye, out of the world she wanted so badly to be a part of.”

Nadim sat back in his seat, smiling smugly. “You could have given her up,” he said, in a transparent attempt to bait the Sheikh. “With her mother already gone, you could have been rid of the whole problem.”

A flash of rage exploded behind Zaiman’s eyes, but he suppressed it.

“My daughter is not a problem to be rid of,” he said, his voice shaking with anger. “I adore her; I could not give her up.”

“You couldn’t give her a life, either,” Nadim pointed out. “Not a real life. Wasn’t it selfish to keep her, knowing she could never see the world, knowing she would never be a part of it?”

Zaiman ground his teeth.

“Perhaps it was selfish to keep her,” he admitted. “But who among you would give up your only child, simply because she might not be accepted by the world? I accepted her and prayed that it would be enough.”

He rubbed a hand over his face, knowing that he was straying from the speech he had rehearsed. Nadim was getting under his skin, and he was going to have to be more careful.

Steeling his resolve, he pressed on.

“I loved her, and for me, that was the end of it. But my love was not enough. She needed to see the world, to build relationships, to experience what it is to live in our magnificent country.”

He took a breath and leaned forward, clasping his hands.

“I should have made this announcement long ago,” he said. “For her sake, and for yours. All of you. I did not give you enough credit; I did not believe that my people would accept and embrace an innocent little girl.” He bowed his head for a moment, then looked out at the audience again. “I am here today to beg your forgiveness. Not for having and keeping my daughter, but for lying to you all for so long.”

The audience booed. Nadim grinned. The last of Zaiman’s control snapped, and he rose to his feet.

“Go ahead!” he said, his voice booming. “Boo, hiss, dissent all you like. I cannot afford to care what you think of me any longer. My daughter deserves a father who is stronger than public opinion.”

The crowd hesitated as low, growling mumbles rippled through it. Zaiman held tight to his conviction.

“I love my daughter. I am so proud of her. She is an inspiration all on her own, and she deserves better than to be hidden away.”

He paused, his throat tight with emotion.

“A brave woman once told me that I cannot trap a person in a life they don’t deserve simply because of my own shame. She was right. I will never again trap my daughter within the confines of my shame. She will never again suffer the consequences of my pride.”

A sniffle from the audience brought his attention sharply back to his people. Dozens of pairs of watery eyes gazed back at him, and as he took his seat once more, applause rippled through the crowd. It gathered force, many people getting to their feet. The animosity he had felt before dissolved, replaced by the understanding he had so hoped for.

“Well,” Nadim said, raising his voice to be heard over the applause. “I must admit, I am impressed. It takes a powerful wordsmith to turn a tide like that.” He snapped his fingers, illustrating. “Thank you for coming today, Sheikh Zaiman.”

Breathing a sigh of relief, Zaiman returned to Alex’s waiting arms.

“You did so well,” Alex murmured, squeezing him. “That was perfect.”

“It was,” Zaiman replied, pulling back just enough to see her beautiful face. “And so are you.”

Giggling, she tilted her head up for a kiss. The Sheikh obliged enthusiastically, lingering longer than he should have, enjoying the sensation of holding freedom in his arms.

“Amia’s waiting,” Alex reminded him.

“That she is,” he said with a smile. “The secret is out. Are you ready for an adventure?”

“Darling, I was born ready.”

They left the studio hand in hand, confident and carefree. Bassam was waiting with the car, and they hurried back to the palace, arriving just moments after Amia’s lessons had ended for the day. They met Rashad on his way out.

“Interesting government lesson today,” Rashad commented as they passed.

“What did he mean by that?” Alex asked.

Amia bounced out the front door, hurtling like a cannonball into her father’s arms.

“Papa! I love you!”

“I love you too, darling,” Zaiman laughed as he lifted her up into his embrace. “What’s all this? Have you been crying?”

“You told everybody,” Amia sobbed into his collar. She pushed back and grabbed his face, beaming from ear to ear. “You told everybody and now everybody knows and I can go everywhere and do everything and talk to everybody and see everything!”

She threw her arms around his neck, squeezing him tight.

“Ah,” Zaiman chuckled, his heart melting. “That must have been an interesting government lesson.”

“My favorite lesson,” she said happily. “My favorite favorite. And you’re my favorite papa.”

“Was there a competition?” he teased.

She giggled, then wriggled out of his arms. “Can we go?” she asked, bouncing on her toes.

“Go where?” Zaiman asked.

“Go anywhere!” Amia cried, spinning around in dizzying circles. Zaiman caught her just as she fell over.

“We sure can!” he said. “How about dinner at the big palace?”

“Yay!”

“The big palace?” Alex asked.

Zaiman winked at her and grinned. “The big palace.”