Raoul de Poitier sucked in a deep breath as he paused to get his first proper glimpse of the view he’d climbed about two thousand steps to find. He had the whole world at his feet. Well...he had what looked like a large part of the Amalfi coast of the Mediterranean down there, anyway. Far, far below he could pick out the tiny blue patch that was the swimming pool on the roof of the hotel Tramonto d’Oro where he’d stayed last night. Beside that was the tiled dome and spire of the ancient church against the terracotta tiles and white houses of the small coastal town of Praiano. Beyond the village, the waters of the Mediterranean stretched as far as the horizon, a breathtakingly sapphire blue as the sunlight gentled its way to dusk. Somewhere out there was his homeland—the European principality of Les Iles Dauphins. Another deep breath was released in what felt like a sigh, and with it came a pang of...what...
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