Page 26 of Her Irresistible Sheik (Al-Sintra Family #9)

“Your Highness, we have a situation,” Tom announced, barely pausing to knock before striding into Mikail’s office. In one hand, he held a bloodied arrow. In the other, a tablet.

“What’s going on?” Mikail demanded, rising from behind his desk. His eyes narrowed, his brow furrowed. The arrow alone was enough to signal a problem—presumably one involving Nahla.

“This,” Tom said, tapping the tablet screen.

A video clip played. A thin man limped down a hallway, a bloody splotch soaking through the back of his pants. Mikail leaned in and his gut twisted with recognition.

“It’s him,” Mikail snapped. “How the hell did he get in?”

“I don’t know,” Tom replied grimly, “but I’ll find out. In the meantime, Princess Nahla is in danger.” He hesitated, then said what Mikail had been dreading: “Maybe she should return to Lativa.”

“No.” Mikail’s voice was sharp and unyielding. He didn’t fully understand it himself—why the thought of her leaving turned his stomach—but he couldn’t let her go. Not yet.

As he mentally flipped through options, Tom offered one. “The Intesa Fortress.”

Mikail’s head jerked up. “The fortress?”

Tom nodded. “It’s isolated. You had pumps and solar power installed three years ago.” He moved closer, bracing his hands on the desk as he thought through the logistics. “It’s not on any current maps.”

“There are no architectural plans. No schematics. It’s just a five-hundred-year-old stone structure, built on a hill in the middle of nowhere.

Easy to defend. Impossible to trace.” He straightened as he thought through the option, his voice gaining momentum.

“We send a small support team—guards, food, staff—but no one else. No explanations. We fly them out under cover, and no one will know where they’re going until they arrive. ”

Mikail considered it. The risks were minimal. He could still communicate if needed. And Tom was right—the fortress wasn’t used for anything but the occasional outpost drill. No one outside of the royal family even remembered it existed.

“Brilliant,” Mikail said. “Make it happen. Keep the circle small.”

Tom nodded and turned, already calling in quiet commands as he exited.

Alone again, Mikail allowed a small smile.

No meetings. No crises. No one tugging on his time. Just him and Nahla, tucked away in a centuries-old fortress where the rest of the world couldn’t reach them.

They’d eat. Talk. Debate. Laugh. Relax.

And once Tom caught the bastard who was trying to hurt her—then maybe, just maybe, Mikail could finally breathe.