Disguised Before The Alpha Prince

Chp 33

DEMYAN – POV

Later that day…

The classroom was quiet. Scrolls rustled softly, quills scratched faintly over parchment, and the low hum of the lecturer’s voice droned on about werewolf treaty negotiations from the Old Age.

I should’ve been listening. I really should’ve.

Instead, I was watching Perin out of the corner of my eye.

He sat beside me, hunched slightly over his notes, a tiny furrow between his brows as he wrote. His sleeves were rolled up, and a few strands of hair had fallen loose near his cheek. He kept blowing them away absentmindedly.

It was… distracting.

And not in the usual he’s-a-good-duel-partner kind of way. No, this was something else. Something I hadn’t felt in a long time. Something I didn’t want to feel, especially not for someone who constantly avoided me like I carried the plague.

And yet, there I was.

Staring at his hands. Wondering why he smelled faintly of wildflowers and smoke. Wondering why, when he looked at me sometimes, I felt like I was standing too close to a fire.

Something’s off about him.

It wasn’t just the way he dodged questions or avoided changing in front of others. It wasn’t even the way he’d tricked me back in the bathhouse with that ridiculous decoy trick. (Clever little wolf.)

It was his eyes. The way they softened in moments when he forgot to be guarded. Like just before he pushed off me earlier, when I’d caught him in my arms. There was no fire or fury in those eyes then—just something delicate and afraid.

But why?

I sighed and leaned back in my chair, pretending to stretch while trying not to stare too obviously. He didn’t notice. Or maybe he did and just didn’t care.

“Demyan,” Perin whispered suddenly.

My head snapped toward him, alert. “Yeah?”

“Do you have the treaty list from last week’s lecture?”

“Uh—yeah, one sec.” I fumbled through my satchel, nearly knocking my ink bottle over in the process. Smooth. Real smooth.

He gave me a faint smile, and my chest did that annoying twist thing again.

Why did it feel like I was always catching up to him? Like he was two steps ahead—not just in cleverness, but in… hiding something.

I wanted to know what it was.

But more than that—I wanted him to trust me with it.

Even if I didn’t know why.

A few minutes into the assignment, my thoughts drifted. The scroll in front of me blurred, and instead of tracing treaty lines, I found myself gazing out the window. The golden light spilled into the room like honey, warming the edges of the stone walls and casting soft halos across the desks.

That’s when I noticed him.

Perin had dozed off.

His head rested on his hand, elbow propped against the desk. His lashes fluttered slightly, his face tilted toward the light. The sunlight hit him directly, and his eyes moved beneath his lids—probably the kind of restless dreaming that comes when the light is too bright.

I shouldn’t have stared.

But I did.

And when I saw the small twitch of a frown tug at his lips, I found myself moving without thinking.

I slid my book closer and tilted it carefully to shield his face. The shadow fell over him—and like magic, his face relaxed. The lines smoothed out. His eyes stilled. And a tiny smile crept onto his lips, soft and peaceful.

My chest squeezed.

What was this feeling?

I wasn’t supposed to feel this kind of quiet affection. Not for someone I barely understood. Not for someone who kept me at arm’s length. And definitely not for someone I was supposed to believe was just another scholar trainee.

But still…

I couldn’t help myself.

Grinning slightly, I moved the book away from his face.

The sunlight returned—and sure enough, his brows twitched, his eyes moved beneath his lids again, and the peaceful smile disappeared into a tiny pout.

I bit back a laugh.

Damn… I’m enjoying this.

I did it again. And again. Watching the way his expression shifted each time like some gentle game. A part of me—maybe the worst part—was delighted by how ridiculously fond I felt at that moment.

And then…

My hand froze halfway to adjust the book again.

I wanted to touch his cheek.

Just gently. Just once. To see if he was real—if that softness was actually there.

I didn’t, of course. I wouldn’t.

But the thought lingered, dangerous and sweet.

PEARL POV

I was dreaming.

At least, I thought I was.

Everything felt hazy—warm sunlight across my face, the sound of rustling parchment, the faint scent of cedar and ink. My cheek rested against my hand, but it was getting too warm, too bright. My eyes fluttered beneath my lids, too tired to open.

And then, suddenly, the warmth shifted.

Shade fell over me. I felt it immediately—the cooling relief across my face. My body relaxed on instinct. I might’ve even smiled.

It felt… safe.

But just as quickly, the light returned, waking the flicker of tension in my brow. I tried to ignore it, to stay still and unmoving. Then it happened again.

Shadow. Light. Shadow. Light.

Is someone…?

I dared to peek, just a sliver of sight from under my lashes.

Demyan.

He was beside me, hunched slightly, grinning like a child who had just discovered something far too entertaining. He was holding a book up and down, playing with the light across my face. Each time he cast shade, my body must’ve reacted.

He was watching me.

Closely.

Too closely.

I stayed still, trying to keep my breathing even. But my heart had picked up its pace, thudding against my ribs with every flutter of his movement.

What is he doing? Why is he watching me like that…?

Then, his hand twitched. He didn’t touch me—but I saw it. Felt it.

He almost did.

Something in his expression had shifted from teasing to… something softer. Gentler. It wasn’t the usual smugness or mischief. It was almost tender.

No. No, no, no.

I shut my eyes quickly again and shifted slightly, just enough to break the moment without making it obvious I’d seen.

“Hmm…” I fake-mumbled, pretending to stir naturally.

He cleared his throat awkwardly and sat straighter. The light stayed off my face this time.

I didn’t open my eyes.

Not yet.

Because if I did, I wasn’t sure I’d be able to look at him without revealing what I’d seen… or how I felt.

These two are seriously getting into my nerves and don't get me started with Rowan.

Something is seriously wrong with Rowan.

At first, I thought I was imagining it—how gentle he was, how he never let me carry anything too heavy, how he always positioned himself between me and large groups like some silent guardian.

But now… it’s getting weird.

This morning, he straightened my collar. With both hands. Right in front of Demyan. His fingers lingered just a second too long and his eyes softened like I was something delicate made of glass.

And then he gave me that smile.

That soft, warm, ruin-you-with-kindness smile that made my stomach twist in ways I did not ask for.

I blinked at him, completely thrown off. “Uh… thanks?”

“Don’t want you catching a cold,” he said smoothly, like that explained anything.

Who even catches a cold from a crooked collar?

I don’t understand him. Or the way he’s started leaning in when he talks to me, his voice low like we’re sharing secrets. I’ve had to stop myself from blushing more than once, and I hate that.

Because this was supposed to be simple. Be Perin. Study hard. Avoid unnecessary attention.

Not get tangled up with two very confusing Alpha males who are suddenly acting like I’m made of spun sugar.

And Demyan… he’s been watching.

Every time Rowan gets close, Demyan’s jaw tightens. He doesn’t say anything, but I can feel the tension radiating off him like steam from a kettle about to blow. Today, when Rowan offered me his cloak because the wind was “too cold,” Demyan just snatched it and threw his own over my shoulders before walking off.

I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing. They’re ridiculous.

What do they even think I am?

Just a weak scholar boy in need of protecting?

Or—no. No, stop. Don’t go there.

This is exactly why I promised myself I wouldn’t get close to either of them. My cover depends on it. My future depends on it.

I can’t afford to be seen as anything less than Perin.

Okay. That’s it.

I’ve had enough.

They’re treating me like I’m some fragile, glass-boned flower who might wilt if someone breathes too hard.

Rowan won’t let me carry my own books. Demyan hovers like a shadow and pulls me back if the wind so much as shifts. They keep exchanging those looks, like I'm an egg on a ledge about to roll off.

Do I look that pathetic?

Maybe I do.

Maybe they think I'm the weakest boy here.

That would explain why Demyan held the door open for me this morning and said, "Careful, it might be heavy for you."

What am I—a toddler?

So I decided: it’s time to prove myself.

Time to man up.

Step one: carry all my books myself.

I had five. Heavy ones. Rowan reached for them, obviously, and I slapped his hand away with a sharp, "I’ve got it." I even flexed a little for dramatic effect.

He blinked. “You sure?”

“Do I look unsure?”

One fell.

I may have tripped over it.

But I stood up straight like nothing happened. Demyan was trying very hard not to laugh.

Step two: walk with swagger.

Easy, right? Just a bit of a confident shoulder roll and long strides. I might’ve overdone it, though, because I accidentally bumped into a pillar and muttered something about it being “in my way.”

Demyan looked at me like I’d lost it.

Rowan just sighed and picked a leaf out of my hair. “Strongest pillar I’ve ever seen beaten,” he said.

Step three: manly voice.

This one’s tricky. I tried deepening it again—extra husky, gruff. But now I sound like I swallowed gravel and forgot how to breathe.

When Rowan asked if I was feeling okay, I growled, “Never been better.”

His eyebrows disappeared into his hairline.

Demyan coughed behind his fist. I’m not sure, but I think he actually snorted.

Step four: show off brute strength.

We were near the training area. There was a small log sitting there, probably used for sword drills or balance. I dragged it in front of them like it weighed nothing (it didn’t, I almost herniated something) and dropped down to do push-ups.

“Are you… exercising?” Rowan asked, amused.

“Just warming up,” I said through gritted teeth.

On the third push-up, I made the mistake of looking up—and Demyan was crouching in front of me, watching closely.

Too closely.

“You’re shaking.”

“I’m not.”

“You’re definitely shaking.”

“I’m just… vibrating with strength.”

Rowan burst out laughing. Great. Just great.

I collapsed in the grass and glared up at the sky.

If this keeps up, they’ll start carrying me like a wounded squirrel.

Why is it so hard to act like a normal, average boy?

Oh, right. Because I’m not one.