The grand chambers of the Gainsborough estate were filled with an uneasy silence, broken only by the occasional clink of glass from the corner where Duke Victor Gainsborough sat, his eyes bloodshot and his breath reeking of alcohol. The morning sunlight streamed through the tall windows, casting a cold, indifferent light on the scene unfolding within.

Duchess Elara Gainsborough, with her hazel-green eyes sharp and her movements precise, stood before her son Raphael, adjusting the intricate embroidery on his coat. Her touch was firm, her expression stern. Every tug and smooth of the fabric was a lesson in perfection.

"Stand still, Raphael," Elara commanded, her voice cold and authoritative. "You must look impeccable for the meeting at the capital. The Emperor expects nothing less."

Raphael, his face devoid of emotion, complied without a word. His light golden blonde hair was impeccably styled, his blue-green eyes fixed straight ahead. He wore his usual gloves, a barrier between him and the world.

From his chair, Duke Victor let out a derisive laugh, slumping further into his seat. "Impeccable," he scoffed, swirling the contents of his glass. "As if that’ll hide what he truly is. A cursed boy pretending to be a noble."

Elara’s eyes flickered with a hint of annoyance, but she continued her task without acknowledging her husband’s taunts. "Raise your chin, Raphael," she instructed. "Confidence is key. You represent the Gainsborough name."

Victor sneered, his voice slurring. "Confidence? This boy? All the confidence in the world won't change the fact that he's a disappointment. A pretty face with nothing behind it."

Raphael remained silent, his expression unchanged, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes—pain, perhaps, or a steely resolve. Elara finished with his coat and stepped back, inspecting her work critically.

"Remember what I taught you," she said, her tone softening just a fraction. "Do not let anyone see your weakness. You are a Gainsborough, and you will act as such."