A Mate To Three Alpha Heirs Chapter 154: They Knew

{Elira}

~**^**~

I shoved the red card into my notebook, as though hiding it might quiet the pounding of my heart.

Professor Calven continued. "Ronan Kett."

A boy near the front dragged himself forward, his usual swagger dimd by the attention. He pulled a violet card, twirling it between his fingers on his way back.

The whispers started up again.

"Two reds... one green... now violet."

"Maybe Violet is artistic?"

"What if Red is punishnt?"

Professor Calven ignored the noise. "Selene Dray."

A girl with sleek black hair walked quickly to the front, choosing a pale yellow card. She looked down at it with a nervous laugh, clutching it close as if it might reveal its secret early.

"Edrin Vale."

A broad-shouldered boy picked a green card, the second of its kind, then held it up triumphantly to the class like he’d already won sothing.

The murmurs swelled, curiosity bleeding into nerves.

I pressed my hands against my knees under the desk, trying to still the restless energy coursing through . Every color chosen made the unanswered question in my head feel louder.

What did red an?

The students kept moving, one after another, the rainbow of cards spreading through the room—blue, yellow, violet, another green.

So groaned at their draw, others smirked, but no one knew if their reaction was justified.

Professor Calven stepped forward, clasping his hands behind his back. His sharp gaze swept the room, silencing us one by one until the air felt heavy with anticipation.

"Good," he said at last. "You have each been chosen."

A ripple of unease moved through the class.

"You now carry your assignnt for Founders’ Day," he continued, his tone smooth, deliberate.

"What those assignnts are, however, will remain undisclosed until Wednesday. After classes, there will be a full gathering in the auditorium, and only then will the anings of your colours be revealed."

The room erupted instantly.

"Wednesday?"

"That’s two days away!"

"This is torture!"

Groans echoed, chairs squeaked, and a few students slamd their cards against their desks in frustration.

Professor Calven only smiled faintly, clearly unfazed by the uproar. "Consider it practice. Patience is a skill you will need more than any other."

His eyes swept over us again, sharp and calculating. "Until Wednesday, speculate all you want. But prepare yourselves. Founders’ Day will test not only your skills, but your spirit."

Then, with a flick of his hand, he dismissed us, right in ti for the bell to ring.

My nerves were stretched thin as the thought of training after all these—sothing that usually steadied , only added a new knot to my stomach.

---

When I pushed open the doors of the small training hall, all three of the brothers were already there.

Rennon stood near the mats as he slipped on his reading glasses; Lennon leaned lazily against the wall with that grin of his; Zenon’s arms were crossed, his gaze sharp as always.

I forced a smile. "Good afternoon."

"Afternoon, sweetheart," Lennon drawled, his grin widening. "So... what colour did you pull today?"

My chest tightened. Of course, he, or anyone of them would ask. "Red," I said quietly.

All three of them exchanged a quick glance that felt silent, yet loaded.

The hairs at the back of my neck prickled. "You know what it ans," I said, my voice sharper than I intended as my eyes darted to Lennon. "Don’t you? Tell ."

He opened his mouth, fire flashing in his eyes like he wanted to actually answer , but Zenon cut in imdiately with a clipped voice. "We are not allowed to tell you."

I stared at him, frustration rising. "Not allowed? That’s ridiculous."

My gaze flicked to Rennon, hoping for an ally. But he only smiled softly, patient as always. "Wait until Wednesday, Elira. The answers will co."

The irritation in my chest twisted into sothing heavier. ’Secrets. Always secrets.’

Before I could push again, Zenon’s voice cut clean through the air. "Drop your bag. Stretch for five minutes, and then we begin."

And just like that, the matter was closed.

I set my bag down by the wall, still stewing over the red card, when Zenon’s voice cut through the hall.

"Today, you are with ."

I froze. "...You?"

A flicker of amusent touched Lennon’s lips. "Oh, you are dood."

Zenon’s eyes narrowed, fixing on . "Stretch quickly and then get into position."

My stomach flipped. Out of all three brothers, Zenon was the one I least wanted as a sparring partner.

He was precise, rciless, and never let a mistake slide. I lingered a second too long, considering an escape when he looked at —just one piercing stare, sharp enough to pin in place.

Before I knew it, I was standing on the mat.

The mont I raised my guard, he moved. A strike ca fast at my shoulder. I barely dodged, the air whooshing past my ear.

"Ah!" I yelped, stumbling back.

Another strike. I ducked too late. His palm clipped the edge of my arm, and the sting made wince.

"Too slow," he said flatly, circling like a hunting wolf.

I barely had ti to reset before his leg swept toward mine. I jumped aside—just in ti for him to jab at my ribs.

"Ah! Moon goddess, stop—!"

"Focus." His voice was calm and relentless.

Lennon leaned against the wall, grinning widely. "Left, Elira! He’s coming left—"

I turned just as Zenon feinted right and tapped the side of my jaw with two fingers.

"Wrong," Zenon said simply.

I groaned, throwing my hands over my face. "This isn’t training—it’s torture!"

Another jab landed against my arm.

"Then learn faster."

Rennon’s voice floated gently from the sidelines. "Breathe, Elira and keep your centre steady."

I tried. I really did. But Zenon moved like lightning, and I was always one second too late, always a fraction too slow.

Every near-hit ca with another sharp ’Ah!’ from my lips, and every ti I thought I would finally read his move, he slipped past like smoke.

Finally, I dropped my guard and stumbled back, panting. "I’m done. I’m not interested anymore. Find another punching bag!"

Lennon burst out laughing, clapping once. "Oh, she’s tapping out already!"

Zenon only arched a brow, unimpressed. "You don’t get to be ’done’ just because you are tired."

"I’m not just tired—I’m dying," I groaned, collapsing onto the mat dramatically. "Write that on my gravestone: Here lies Elira Shaw. Defeated by Zenon’s training."

For a mont, even Rennon’s lips twitched in a smile.

Then Zenon crouched beside , his shadow falling over mine, and though his tone stayed sharp, I swore I saw the faintest glimr of amusent in his eyes.

"Get up. You are not dead yet."