Vivia tried her best to appear warm and harmless, but their blatant disdain made it difficult to breathe. Some families outrightly shut their doors right on her face.

“I understand your sentiments, but Princess Clairette truly wished to visit Nethermoor and offer her help,” Zerath calmly intervened.

“We don't need a human’s help! Tell her to leave!”

As they moved from house to house, Zerath gently said. “Please don’t take it to heart. The winter makes everything feel heavier and irritable.”

“Oh, I’m not offended. I’m happy to help no matter their hostility. I’ve very thick skin~” she smiled brightly.

From the corner of her eye, Vivia spotted an elderly woman collapse onto the icy road. She rushed to her side, panicked. “Are you okay?”

The frail demoness looked up with a vacant gaze but unlike the others, she barely reacted to her presence.

“Madam!” Zerath quickly stepped in, steadying her on her feet.

“My lord…” Tears welled in her eyes as she clutched onto his hands. “My daughter is still not back. This isn’t like Sira at all. It's been a year now but no letter, no message. You promised to help…W-Where is she, my lord?”

Zerath placed a steady hand on her shoulders. “I understand your anguish, but trust me. I'm doing everything I can to find her.”

“When…when, my lord? H-Has something happened to her…?” Her voice faltered.

“No,” he firmly said. “I believe that Miss. Sira is safe wherever she is. It won't be long before I bring her back home.”

The mother broke down into soft sobs, murmuring her daughter's name. He signaled Lucian, who quietly helped her back home.

Vivia watched, stunned. “...What happened to her daughter?”

Zerath's gaze looked complicated. “Her daughter left Nethermoor a year ago to settle in a better city, but no one’s heard from her since. She never returned. The officials conducted a search, but it led nowhere.”

“That’s disheartening…”

Vivia’s chest tightened, imagining the mother’s pain and the desperate hope that her daughter was living well. And yet...there was something else in Zerath’s expression, like a shadow he didn’t voice out.

They eventually arrived at the last house - Chef Andras’s family. Vivia felt strangely more eager to meet them.

An old demon grunted with displeasure. “Who dares disturb my peaceful sleep?”

“It’s me, Sir Belphegor,” Zerath greeted cheerfully.

“Ah. The crown prince kid,” he snorted.

Vivia's brow twitched.

“I’ve come to deliver your provisions. How’s your health now?”

“How would it be in this cursed winter?” He muttered bitterly.

“Don't be so prickly with the Crown Prince, Belphegor.”

A petite demoness with curled grey locks stepped out, glaring at her husband.

Zerath bowed. “Madam Zephyra.”

“It feels good to see you again, dear. Ignore my husband’s rant.”

He frowned. “He broke my sleep.”

“Would you rather go out and fetch provisions yourself?”

“You think I can’t?” He glowered.

“Your old bones would snap so sit quietly.”

“H-How insolent!”

A chuckle slipped from Vivia, but she quickly stifled it. “Apologies.”

Both elders stared at her. “Is she a human?”

Zerath said, “Yes. She is Clairette Emberlain, the royal princess of the Emberlain kingdom.”

“Hah!” He scoffed. “And what’s the royal princess doing here? Pitying us? We don't need pity! Get out!”

By now, Vivia’s heart had toughened against such animosity. She bowed politely.

“Greetings, Sir Belphegor, Madam Zephyra. It’s a pleasure to meet you. I didn’t come here to pity anyone. In fact, I admire your resilience. I wouldn’t have left either, if I were in your place.”

Belphegor grumbled, unimpressed.

“Also,” she grinned. “I was eager to meet Chef Andras's family.”

“That kid still cooks?” He sounded dubious.

Sir, it’s your own son…She mentally coughed.

“He’s a genius!”

Zephyra’s expression flickered with unease. She had only heard of humans visiting the Demon Realm for political purposes. Seeing one in her town was a first.

“Chef Andras makes such delicious food. One can feel his sincerity, especially toward a certain woman…”

Their ears perked instantly. Suddenly, their son’s love life held more importance than a human’s existence.

“A woman?”

“Who is she?”

“What does she do?”

“Does she also work in the royal palace?”

“The main question is if she'd even like that buffoon of a son.”

“Andras has his charms,” Zephyra defended him.

“Does he even know how to use his charms?”

“How much of that charm had you used to court me? I did all the grunt work in getting us married!”

“Ugh…”

Vivia handed them the provisions, stifling another laugh. “There’re some blankets too to keep you warm.”

Zerath politely bowed. “We’ll take our leave. Apologies again for ruining your sleep.”

Belphegor grimaced. “Forget about sleep. Is your cousin doing anything to solve this crisis?”

Cousin? Vivia blinked once.

“Cousin Astaroth is doing his best. Not to worry, Sir Belphegor. He is working diligently to come up with a resolution.”

“How will he find one if his carriage always forgets to take the turn toward Nethermoor?”

“He will-”

“Well, why would he? It’s been over twenty years since anyone bothered to care.”

“Belphegor…” Zephyra sighed.

“Since you’re in town, are you going to take another look?” His eyes narrowed.

“That’s my plan, Sir. I’ve already dispatched Lucian and some knights to search for any clues.”

At the very least, Belphegor was marginally satisfied with his response.

As they walked away, Zerath curiously asked, “Why did you mention Azarael?”

Vivia beamed. “Love conversations always hit a chord, especially with parents. Did you notice? Madam Zephyra sounded friendlier and Sir Belphagor looked a little less grumpy hoho~ I consider it a win!”

“Very sneaky.”

“But don't tell Chef Andras. He’ll kill me,” she sweated.

“A secret from him, hm? Let me see…I feel a moral obligation to warn him of his impending interrogation.”

Imagining Andra’s outburst, Vivia sweated. “You’re supposed to be on my side.”

Zerath leaned in with a teasing glint in his eyes. “Your side huh...Now that's a tempting proposition.”

She stood tall against his charm blasted at her in all directions. “Indeed, being on a dancer’s side only has merits.”

“Like?” He raised a brow.

“You get a front row seat in the audience,” she smirked. “Watching my performance so closely is not a fate everybody is blessed with.”

Zerath stared at her for a moment and laughed heartily. “Now that’s a tempting proposition.”

“Yes. So you better shield me from Chef Andras, or you get the farthest seats from the stage,” she sneered.

He smiled. “I’ll still get the front row seats, don't worry. I’d like to consider myself as least that influential.”

“That's abuse of power.”

"If it works, it works,” he shrugged.

She grimaced.

“Anyway,” she asked, “Who is Sir Astaroth?”

"My elder cousin. Mother’s younger sister is married to Sir Balam, a minister in the Order of the Council. Cousin Astaroth is their son.”

“Oh. But why did Sir Belphegor ask about his visit?”

“Because my cousin took it upon himself to solve Nethermoor’s crisis.”

“Oh…”

“Why the hesitation?”

“Well, working behind the scenes is fine, but unless he visits, how would the townsfolk know they aren’t forgotten in the heaps of other matters?”

Zerath’s lips curved faintly.

Just then, Lucian returned and bowed.

“Anything?” He asked.

Zerath sighed with his negative response. “Keep searching.”

“Young lord Astaroth wouldn’t…welcome this search.”

Vivia blinked. “Why not? It’s better to put two heads instead of one for something this huge.”

“Anything related to eternal winter here falls within his jurisdiction.”

She studied them both, thoughtful. “...Is he aiming to become the next Demon King?”

The faint smile on Zerath’s lips widened.

Lucian said, “...How did you know?”

“You said that he took Nethermoor as his sole responsibility. So Nethermoor isn’t just one of the matters for him. It's the matter for him, which means he really, really wants to solve this on his own. It also means that success would significantly raise his stature because he achieved something that even the royal family couldn't do. That’d make people see him as a worthy future King.”

“But my lord is His Majesty’s son. Naturally, he’d succeed the throne.”

She scratched her chin, uncertain.“I can’t figure out that part. There must be something else I don't know.”

Zerath said, “It's simple. I'm not the King and Queen’s son. I’m adopted.”