The Emperor's New Nightingale Read online

  THE EMPEROR’S

  NEW NIGHTINGALE

  by

  Angela Castle

  Published by

  Angela Castle

  www.angelacastle.net

  Copyright 2013 by Angela Castle

  Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 (five) years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.

  Names, characters and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or the publisher.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  Credits

  Cover Artist: Gemini Judson

  Editor: Duncan Carling-Rodgers

  Copy Editor: Dennis Hays

  Printed in the Australia

  Acknowledgements

  LAST ROSE OF SUMMER – Written by Rob Halford and Glenn Tipton

  MEMORY – Written by Andrew Lloyd Webber

  KISS ME – Written by Matthew Slocum

  BLEEDING LOVE – Written by Jesse McCartney

  WHEN YOU BELIEVE – Written by Stephen Schwartz

  MY HEART BELONGS TO YOU – Written by Hayley Westenra

  HALO – Written and composed by Ryan Tedder, Evan Bogart and Beyonce Knowles

  Other Books by Angela Castle Available on Amazon:

  Beast Planet 1: Captive Surrender

  Beast Planet 2: Captive Salvation

  Dedication

  To all my wonderful readers

  Your wonderful encouragement

  Helps me to keep writing.

  Chapter One

  Julie Beasley stared at the little, white card in her hand before glancing up at the tall, handsome, blue-eyed man who gave it to her.

  ‘Nightingale Intergalactic Singing Competition;’ on the flip side of the card was a city address and a time for later this evening. Intergalactic? She narrowed her gaze at the obviously crazy, albeit good-looking, man.

  “It’s a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. You sing very well and I see you’re very pretty.”

  She gaped at him before narrowing her eyes in suspicion. She didn’t care how good-looking the man was. He must have lost his mind to think I’m pretty. However, a more worrying thought pressed on her mind.

  “How on earth did you hear me sing?”

  It was true, she loved to sing. She did it constantly and unconsciously, but mainly in her own little apartment and when she was in the shower, where her voice echoed off the tiled walls. She had not sung in front of an audience since she was a child at her grandmother’s church.

  “Your window was open as I walked by.”

  Great—the handsome man was a Peeping Tom and a pervert. Why did it always have to be the good-looking ones?

  She sighed inwardly. Unless he climbed the broken fire escape and crawled around the ledges, there was no way he could be peeping at her.

  “You make a habit of listening in through windows, then? You know the singing might not have been mine.” She attempted to inch around him, but he blocked all of the front steps of her rundown building.

  “Instinct.” He smiled down at her.

  “Thank you, but I'm not looking for a singing career. I live in the real world where one has to work hard to earn a living.”

  His expression morphed into one of sympathy.

  “I understand having to work hard. This competition could help ease your financial burden. The winner gets a prize and wealth beyond their dreams. Hell, even the runner up gets a large cash prize.”

  Julie pursed her lips, feeling the weight of her financial burden. Three years of hospital treatments to battle her mother’s cancer left her with a hefty debt. She struggled to pay the rent on her tiny apartment and buy meals once the fortnightly payments were met. She knew some dreams were nothing more than that—just dreams.

  She needed some extra funds, but she wasn’t going gamble her time and money on some wasted venture.

  “I’m sure it sounds wonderful for someone who has the time to indulge in such fancies. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to get to work.” She tried to give back his card. He waved her hand away, ignoring her words, as he continued.

  “All audition entries get five hundred dollars, chosen or not. All you have to do is sing—nothing more. All competitors, who are accepted get all expenses paid and an additional five thousand dollars. Winner takes the grand prize and the losers go home with their money.”

  Damn, it does sound good. Even an extra five hundred dollars would help her out. Her mind turned towards contemplating entering this man’s singing contest.

  “Are you sure all I have to do is sing? No taking clothes off?”

  His grin widened, amusement sparkling in the depths of his blue eyes.

  “I swear on the galaxy itself, you will not have to do anything unsavory—just sing.”

  Still, she hesitated. “What’s the grand prize?”

  His smile was sinfully sexy. “Wealth beyond your dreams and a contract to sing solely for the consortium's owner.”

  “What is the consortium and who is the owner?”

  “I’m under contract not to reveal that, only to find Nightingales to sing.”

  Warning bells went off in her head. If something sounded too good to be true, it usual was.

  “Thanks, but I don’t think so…”

  “I know you have no reason to trust me, but I can assure you this is, as you Australians say, fair dinkum. The winner of this competition is treated like an empress. I give you my solemn word.”

  Julie’s jaw tightened and she narrowed her eyes at his pushy insistence.

  “Look, Mr…uh...”

  “Uric Weston.”

  “Look, Mr. Weston, right now it's starting to look more like a nightmare than an offer of a lifetime.”

  “Forgive me.” He stepped back to give her space to scoot around him. “The offer is genuine.”

  She paused on the side walk, glancing back up at him. He didn’t follow, but added: “Some chances are worth taking.”

  Julie didn’t like taking chances; she relied on good, solid facts, not pipe dreams. In fact, she hasn’t ever bought a lottery ticket. Honest hard work, her mother always said, was the way to success.

  She shook her head to dislodge her rampant thoughts, sparing another glance at Mr. Weston before running down the street. The last thing she needed to be was late for work.

  * * * *

  Could this day get any worse? The stranger made her miss the bus, making her jog five blocks to work, leaving her panting, sweaty, and fifteen minutes late. Her supervisor glared at her, red with anger.

  “This goes on your record, Miss Beasley. You'd better do a bloody good job and no skipping corners.”

  No skipping corners! She fought the impulse to knee the rat bastard in the balls. Her supervisor was one of the laziest workers at the hotel, always shoveling his responsibilities onto others. No doubt, he got off on ordering people around. There was nothing she could do without getting fired though so, she clenched her fists and nodded. “Yes sir.”

  All throughout her cleaning shift, she couldn’t stop thinking about Mr. Weston’s singing competition, the numbers rattling off in her head—five hundred dollars, five thousand dollars, ultimate wealth for the winner. No one wo
uld boss her around, and she would be free from debt. Maybe, she could start her own little business. All she needed to do was sing.

  By the end of the day, her arms, back and feet ached. Not only that, she talked herself into entering the Nightingale competition—going against everything she was taught. Just take once chance, Julie. Either way, she still had her job to fall back on.

  Changing from her uniform, ignoring the hunger gnawing in the pit of her stomach, she walked seven blocks to the address on the back of the card.

  A line of attractive, young women stood by the stage door, all thin, pretty and expensively dressed. Some of them held music score sheets in their hands and most of them preened like peacocks. As she watched them apply thick amounts of lipstick and mascara, Julie almost lost her nerve. She felt ill-equipped, fat and frumpy in her plain skirt and blouse. The only thing keeping her at the end of the line was the thought of the money.

  Uric Weston appeared though the side door and walked along the line of women. Some openly flirted, most likely in hopes of winning this round of the contest.

  He must have spotted her bouncing on the balls of her feet, ready to bolt through the back door. A smile lit Mr. Weston’s face when his gaze fell on her.

  “Glad you could make it.” He handed her a clipboard and pen while his blue eyes swept her from head to toe. She felt her cheeks flush with heat from his appraisal.

  “I didn’t have anything else to do this evening,” she muttered.

  “Would you please fill these out, Miss Beasley?”

  She nodded, not trusting her voice.

  He turned to address the line of women. “Hand your paperwork and any music or backing to Mr. Erson. You will each be called through in order. Those not selected will be given their participation money on the way out.”

  Julie wrote down her details on the form, including hobbies and song choices, and frowned when it came to sexual preferences. What the hell did that have to do with a singing competition? She left it blank, hoping they wouldn't notice. Her plan was simple—sing her little folk tune, and then leave with the much-needed five hundred dollars. Her stomach complained when she thought about buying some extra groceries.

  Julie swallowed with just a touch of guilt. She almost felt like she was cheating them out of their money. It was one way to earn her next meal, singing for her supper.

  Nervously, she watched as, one by one, the women were called in. She strained to hear what they were singing, but no sound came through the door.

  Finally, it was her turn. Mr. Erson appeared, as tall and clean-cut as Mr. Weston, apart from his lovely, soft brown hair. Julie could almost peg them for brothers.

  His gaze raked over her from head to toe and he smiled. Julie felt the heat rise into her cheeks at his open appraisal.

  “Miss Beasley.” He read her clipboard. “No music?” She shook her head. “Do you need any piano accompaniment? Our pianist is exceptional and can play any song.”

  “No, thank you. I don't require accompaniment.”

  His grin widened before he studied her papers again.

  “You have not filled in all the form.”

  Julie met his gaze, determined and defiant. “My sexual preferences are none of anyone’s business. Otherwise, I can leave right now.”

  “You are quite right. The stage is yours, Miss Beasley.” He stood back.

  Summing up all of her courage and stamping down on her nerves, Julie walked with her head held high through to the curtains. Sweeping them aside, she walked out into the center of the stage. The lights directly overhead made it difficult for her to see the trio of shadowy figures sitting in the fifth row. An audience of three. I can handle that.

  “When you’re ready, Miss Beasley.”

  She recognized the voice of Uric Weston.

  Julie cleared her throat and closed her eyes, envisioning her mother smiling proudly at her, as she used to do when Julie sang for her.

  Taking a deep breath, she let her inner music swirl into her mind and started to sing. Her voice rang out clean and clearer than the finest of bells.

  'The Last Rose of Summer'

  When she finished, the melody faded through the small auditorium. She opened her eyes, waiting to be told she could go home.

  “Thank you, Miss Beasley,” Mr. Weston's voice rang out. “Could you please wait back in the holding area?”

  She walked off the stage and waited for a good five minutes and was then more nervous than she was before going on stage. All she wanted was to get her money and leave. The door swung open and Mr. Weston walked towards her with a broad smile.

  “Congratulations!”

  She blinked up at the handsome man not quite believing what he said. He smiled down at her. “I always know talent when I hear it.” He handed over a thick, yellow envelope.

  “Here is your winner’s payment and the details of where you have to be for the next stage of the competition. I've added some extra, so you can buy yourself some nice clothes. Pack for a few days and get yourself a good meal.”

  Her cheeks infused with heat, embarrassed her stomach groaned loudly.

  “Mr. Weston, I have a job. I can’t just pack up and leave.”

  “Please, Julie, call me Uric.” He smiled warmly. “I have the name of your employer and I’ll sort out the details. You will not lose your job, but if all works out as I hope, you may never need to return to it again.” He smiled with pure confidence.

  She shook her head. There was no way her lazy boss was giving her time off.

  “Trust me, I’ll take care of everything. You just take care of yourself and your wonderful talent.”

  Uric gently took hold of her upper arm, escorting her to the door and back onto the side street.

  “I’ll see you very soon, Julie.” With that, he closed the door, leaving her staring at its red painted surface in astonishment.

  “I won.” She drew in a breath and shook her head. “Well, at least I didn’t have to take off my clothes.” Her gaze slid to the envelope. She opened it with trembling fingers; reaching in, she slid the money partly out, gasping at the neatly bundled cash. Five thousand dollars! Leaving the cash inside the envelope, she pulled out a sheet of paper, glancing over the neat print.

  ‘Nightingale Intergalactic Singing Contest’. Intergalactic? She snorted. The names they came up with these days.

  She skimmed over the basic rules for the second round. She was to meet up with the other winner at the Melbourne airport—no passport was necessary. So, at least they were staying within Australia. She wasn’t sure when she would get time to do her shopping for clothes, she had to work in the morning, and she hated walking into clothing stores where everything was for a size ten and under.

  Julie heaved another sigh while walking home in a dreamlike state, clutching her five thousand dollars. She stopped at a local Chinese restaurant, getting takeaway, before visiting a bakery and treating herself to a nice slice of chocolate cake.

  Chapter Two

  Orin, Emperor of Ario, Lord of the Four Galaxies of Harmony, leaned against the palace wall, watching the first of the nightingale ships land. He started, he hoped, as his father before him, to find his destined Empress on board one of the many ships landing over the next few days.

  The contest was coming not a moment too late, for already he felt the power draining from the Song Krystal and his heart was heavy with worry.

  His life, along with all those connected within the four galaxies, depended on the power of the Song Krystal to keep the universe in balance.

  His loving mother, The Divine Empress, died more than a moon month ago, and along with her, the song keeping the Krystal strong and the galaxies pulsing with energy and life.

  Without the Song Krystal and its power, they would be thrown into darkness, and the evil, which so long ago stalked the universe, would be unleashed.

  The time had come for Orin to find a new empress and nightingale. The Krystal would accept only one voice, one perfect pitch of abs
olute beauty. It would vibrate joy and peace to every living creature within its protection.

  The woman would become his wife as all the prior Nightingales became his forefathers' wives.

  Each spacecraft held women chosen by seekers for their voices. The law demanded all singers must be willing participants, for only a true heart song would make the Song Krystal glow. The Song Krystal guardians would watch it carefully until it reacted to the right voice.

  A long time ago, Orin accepted he would love the woman he was yet to meet. Once they found her, no other would ever tempt him. Even if other brief affairs filtered through his life since his coming of age, they merely sated his lusts and taught him how to please and pleasure, but none of them ever pulled at his soul, or did he feel the completion of his heart. His mother and father promised him he would know the right woman when he met her.

  “Before she opened her mouth to sing, my boy, I knew your mother was mine. You will feel the pull too from deep in your soul.” The words of his father lingered.

  Orin believed in his parents and in the Song Krystal. It never failed to provide beautiful, loving wives. Love, light and music reigned supreme in the kingdom.

  He also commanded the most formidable army in the galaxy, defending against any force daring to threaten their peace. Orin spent much of his youth training with the armies, learning all there was to know about the empire which one day would be his.

  He smiled at the memory of his mother teasing him about how many maidens' hearts he already broke. His heart ached knowing he would never hear her voice again, or have her sing to him as she did when he was a boy. Now, the only time he saw his mother’s smile was on her portrait, hanging in the palace gallery.

  Orin turned from the balcony, walking back through his chamber into the reception rooms where work was waiting for him. Occupation is the best way to keep his mind from building anticipation about the woman he would find.