Summary:

Ahead of him on the path, looking resplendent in a long black and gold coat with fur at the cuffs and along the rim of his felt hat, stands Ilya Rozanov; second son of Grigori Rozanov. He has a cigar hanging loosely from his lips, which are cocked into a familiar smirk.

He’s infuriatingly handsome, a gem of the court, and worst of all… he knows it.