Not one little bit. She stood with her eye pressed to the peephole and observed the dark corridor with the intensity of an owl waiting for a mouse. Except, she was positive this man was far more dangerous than a mouse. The width of his shoulders leaned toward brawler rather than dandy, while his long strides spoke of a man on a mission. Zofiya felt something else about him—something that she was very well acquainted with. Danger. Ever since the Emperor’s sister had lost her faith, she had deliberately tried to steer away from superstition in all its forms. After her goddess was exposed as a fraud in a violent public display that nearly killed her, Zofiya had decided a new path was the best course. Huddled on the Imperial Airship the Summer Hawk, she had determined that from that moment on she would only believe what her eyes would bring her. Yet, this newcomer to the Imperial Court, one who had in the last few weeks been spending an increasing amount of time in her brother’s private chambers, had an aura of menace about him she could not nail down to any one glaring attribute.
