Talos Claims His Virgin. Michelle Smart
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was a composer and musician.’
A short pause. ‘Rhea Kalliakis...’
‘You have heard of her?’
‘I doubt there’s a violinist alive who hasn’t. She composed the most beautiful pieces.’
A sharp pang ran through him to know that this woman appreciated his grandmother’s talents. Amalie couldn’t know it, but her simple appreciation only served to harden his resolve that she was the perfect musician for the role. She was the only musician.
‘She completed her final composition two days before her death.’
She turned from the coffee pot to face him.
Amalie Cartwright had the most beautiful almond-shaped eyes, he noted, not for the first time. The colour reminded him of the green sapphire ring his mother had worn.
That ring now lay in the Agon palace safe, where it had rested for the past twenty-six years, waiting for the day when Helios selected a suitable bride to take guardianship of it. After their grandfather’s diagnosis, that day would be coming much sooner than Helios had wanted or expected. Helios needed to marry and produce an heir.
The last time Talos had seen the ring his mother had been fighting off his father. Two hours later the pair of them had been dead.
He cast his mind away from that cataclysmic night and back to the present. Back to Amalie Cartwright—the one person who could do justice to Rhea Kalliakis’s final composition and with it, bring comfort to a dying man. A dying king.
‘Is that the piece you wish to have played at your grandfather’s gala?’
‘Yes. In the five years since her death we have kept the score secure and allowed no one to play it. Now we—my brothers and I—believe it is the right time for the world to hear it. And at what better occasion than my grandfather’s Jubilee Gala? I believe you are the person to play it.’
He deliberately made no mention of his grandfather’s diagnosis. No news of his condition had been released to the public at large and nor would it be until after the gala—by decree from King Astraeus, his grandfather, himself.
Amalie poured the freshly brewed coffee into the mugs, added milk to her own, then brought them to the table and took the seat opposite him.
‘I think it is a wonderful thing you are doing,’ she said, speaking in measured tones. ‘There isn’t another violinist alive who wouldn’t be honoured to be called upon to do it. But I am sorry, monsieur, that person cannot be me.’
‘Why not?’
‘I told you. I have a prior engagement.’
He fixed her with his stare. ‘I will double the appearance fee. Twenty thousand euros.’
‘No.’
‘Fifty thousand. And that’s my final offer.’
‘No.’
Talos knew his stare could be intimidating, more so than his sheer physicality. He’d performed this stare numerous times in front of a mirror, looking to see what it was that others saw, but had never recognised what it might be. Whatever it was, one throw of that look was enough to ensure he got his own way. The only people immune to it were his brothers and grandparents. Indeed, whenever his grandmother had seen him ‘pull that face’, as she had referred to it, she’d clipped his ear—but only hard enough to sting.
He missed her every day.
But apart from those members of his family he had never met anyone immune to his stare. Until now.
From Amalie there was not so much as a flicker, just a shake of her head and her long hair, which was in dire need of a good brush, falling into her eyes. She swiped it away.
Talos sighed, shook his head regretfully and rubbed his chin, making a great show of disappointment.
Amalie cradled her mug and took a sip of the hot coffee, willing her nerves to stay hidden from his piercing gaze.
All her life she’d had to deal with huge personalities and even huger egos. It had taught her the importance of keeping her emotions tucked away. If the enemy—and at that very moment Talos was an enemy to her, she could feel it—detected any weakness then they would pounce. Never make it easy for them. Never give them the advantage.
She had never found it so hard to remain passive. Never. Not since she’d been twelve and the nerves she’d fought so hard to contain had taken control of her. The fear and humiliation she’d experienced on that occasion felt as strong today as they had then.
But there was something about this man that did things to her; to her mind, to her senses. Inside her belly, a cauldron bubbled.
Talos reached for his briefcase, and for one tiny moment she thought she had won and that he would leave. Except then he placed it on the table and opened it.
‘I have tried appealing to your better nature. I have tried appealing to your greed. I have given you numerous chances to accept the easy way...’ He removed a sheaf of papers and held them up for her to see. ‘These are the deeds to the Théâtre de la Musique. You are welcome to read through them. You will see they confirm me as the new owner.’
Stunned into silence, all Amalie could do was shake her head.
‘Would you like to read them?’
She continued shaking her head, staring from the documents in his hand to his unsmiling face.
‘How is it possible?’ she whispered, trying to comprehend what this could mean—for her, for the orchestra...
‘I put my offer in on Saturday evening. The purchase was completed an hour ago.’
‘But how is this possible?’ she repeated. ‘This is France. The home of bureaucracy and red tape.’
‘Money and power talk.’
He placed the deeds back in his briefcase and leaned forward, bringing his face to within inches of hers. Any closer and she’d be able to feel his breath on her face. ‘I am a prince. I have money—a lot of it—and I have power. A lot of it. You would be wise to remember that.’
Then he leant back in his chair and drank his coffee, all the while his laser eyes burned into her.
She squeezed her mug, suddenly terrified to lose her grip on it. The implications were forming an orderly queue in her brain.
‘Now I am the owner of the theatre I am wondering what I will do with the building and the orchestra it houses. You see, the previous owner was so struck with greed at the amount I offered he made no stipulations for the sale...’ He drained the last of his coffee and pushed his mug away so it rested against hers. ‘Take the solo, despinis, and I will throw so much money at the theatre the crowds will come flocking back and your orchestra will be the toast of Paris. Refuse and I will turn it into a hotel.’
The jostling in her brain stopped. The implications came loud and clear, with clanging bells and ringing sirens.
‘You’re blackmailing me,’ she said starkly. ‘You’re actually trying to blackmail me.’
He shrugged indifferently and pushed his chair back. ‘Call it what you will.’
‘I call it blackmail. And blackmail is illegal.’
‘Tell it to the police.’ He displayed his white teeth. ‘However, before you call them I should advise you that I have diplomatic immunity.’
‘That is low.’
‘I can and will go even lower. You see, little songbird, I have the power to ensure you never play the violin professionally again. I can blacken your name, and the names of all those you play with, so that no orchestra—not even a provincial amateur one—would touch you.’
The bubbling cauldron moved