The Princess and the Foal

The Princess and the Foal
Stacy Gregg

A novel of heart and courage inspired by the incredible story of a real life princess.Princess Haya, daughter of the King of Jordan, loves her family more than anything. So when tragedy strikes at its heart, she is devastated.The Princess becomes ever more withdrawn until, on her birthday, the King gives her a life-changing present. An incredible new friendship grows and the heartbroken princess begins to dream of an extraordinary future.Inspired by the real-life story of Olympic equestrienne Princess Haya Bint Al Hussein and set against the exotic backdrop of Arabia, this novel is destined to become a modern classic.

Contents

Cover (#u40d78be4-ab9c-5875-bf69-2d50a4fe6ab8)

Midnight, 23 August 1986 (#u5e274489-ecf2-5522-a248-9e29cc7e6879)

The Storm (#ufdca1a43-165a-5f5e-a203-f407045187b8)

The Legend of Al Khamseh (#u1fdab2cf-e883-5373-bb98-bf2b8823ff80)

Aqaba (#u20429173-9e13-5dad-9feb-ee7bced27f87)

The Treasure Box (#u3f9c6c6d-5c00-516a-ab87-4f682f485876)

The Foaling (#u1e0f7a9c-647e-5e70-a313-c36ad70e883f)

The Birthday Present (#u7fb257ce-4801-5e0a-908d-d81273a443dc)

Bint Al-Reeh (#litres_trial_promo)

The Desert Patrol (#litres_trial_promo)

Mrs Goddard and the Tanks (#litres_trial_promo)

The Dumb Waiter (#litres_trial_promo)

Taming the Wind (#litres_trial_promo)

A Strange Land (#litres_trial_promo)

The Upper Third at Badminton (#litres_trial_promo)

Challenger (#litres_trial_promo)

Home (#litres_trial_promo)

Learning to Fly (#litres_trial_promo)

The Sakret (#litres_trial_promo)

The Shaved Bear (#litres_trial_promo)

Daughter of the Wind (#litres_trial_promo)

The King’s Cup (#litres_trial_promo)

The Silver Accord (#litres_trial_promo)

9pm, 24 August 1986 (#litres_trial_promo)

Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Author (#litres_trial_promo)

Other books by Stacy Gregg (#litres_trial_promo)

Read on for a sneak peek of ‘Mystic and the Midnight Ride’ (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)

Is it true you ask? And I say yes, especially the most extraordinary bits, they are the very truest of all.

To Her Royal Highness Princess Haya Bint Al Hussein.

Thank you for sharing your incredible story with me, and to all the other princesses who dare to dream.

his book is a work of fiction, inspired by the early life of Her Royal Highness Princess Haya Bint Al Hussein. Any historical events, real people or real locales in this novel are portrayed fictitiously. Other names, characters and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.

(#ulink_e691905d-d8fe-50ac-9763-0ee2593307e3)

ello, Mama,

I am underneath my blankets with a torch as I write this. I don’t dare turn the lights on because Frances might see and know that I am awake, and the last person I want to deal with right now is Frances.

I should be asleep, but I am too full of nerves about tomorrow. Santi has a calendar in his office at the stables and I have marked off the squares in red pen one by one, the knot in my belly tightening as the day grows closer. For a long time it seemed forever away. And now suddenly there is no more waiting. In a few hours it will be dawn and I will go down to the stables and prepare Bree. I’ll braid her tail and bandage her legs and then we will load the horses on to the truck and travel across the desert, bound on a journey that must end in either defeat or honour and glory for the Royal Stables.

I am trembling as I write these words to you and I tell myself that it is not fear, it is excitement. In all the history of the King’s Cup there has never been a girl rider. But I am not just a girl. I am a Bedouin of the Hashemite clan and I was born to ride. Thousands of years ago the women of my tribe sat astride their horses in battle and fought side by side with men. Well, I do not want to fight – all I want to do is win.

A thousand faces will stare down from the grandstand tomorrow. Baba will watch me from the Royal Box with Ali by his side, and no doubt Frances will have elbowed her way in too. She’ll be waiting for me to fail, to make a fool of myself in front of all those people. All the time undermining me to Baba, saying it is not right for the daughter of the King of Jordan to spend her time hanging around the stables, mucking out the dung. She is always trying to make me into something I am not.

Frances wants me to be like some princess in the storybooks – confined to my tower, dressed in ball gowns and a golden crown and glass slippers. I mean, who in their right mind would wear glass slippers? If I had my way, I would wear jodhpurs all day long.

“Your mother always deported herself as a gracious lady.” That is exactly what Frances says. She talks so posh sometimes it is as if she is the royal one not just my governess.

Frances is always telling me I should be more like you. It is so annoying because if you were actually here then I wouldn’t have to listen to her. I would be allowed to do as I like and I would never have to wear stupid dresses to dinner or put up with any of the rules that Frances makes up.

I tell her that you were a Queen, but you wore a T-shirt and jeans. I remember your favourite pair of red jeans. The ones you bought in Rome when you were very young, before you married Baba.

You wore those red jeans and your long hair was always loose over your shoulders and swept back off your face. I have grown my hair long now too, but it is plain brown. Baba insists that I look just like you, but you always looked like a movie star to me with your green eyes and dark blonde hair. If I close my eyes sometimes, I can see your face and hear your laughter like music filling the palace at Al Nadwa.

I remember I would ask you, “Can I become a Queen one day?” and your answer was always the same. You would tell me, “Haya, you are a Princess of Jordan. Perhaps one day you will be a Queen, Inshallah. But remember your title is on a piece of paper, on a page of a history book, no more than that. It’s what you have inside that means everything. You must always be yourself, Haya, never pretend. Do you understand?”

I would look at your face and you would be very serious, but then you would pick me up and smother me with kisses until I giggled and we would laugh together as you held me close in your arms.