A Mate To Three Alpha Heirs-Chapter 22: First Lesson

{Elira}

~**^**~

The corridor smelled faintly of polished wood and sun-warmed stone. My footsteps echoed behind Rennon’s calm, steady pace.

When we reached the study — a quiet room lined with high shelves, their spines faded by age — my chest tightened.

It smelled like ink, paper, and dust... and something softer that reminded me of afternoons long ago in my father’s study.

"Sit," Rennon said, gesturing to the chair nearest the window.

I lowered myself carefully, smoothing my dress against my knees. My hacked hair brushed my cheek; it still felt strange, lighter.

Rennon sat across from me and laid out a stack of past exam papers. His fingers were long, neat, and sure.

"We will start with reading comprehension," he said. "Don’t rush. Read slowly, then tell me what you understand."

The first paragraph wavered before my eyes. Words blurred into each other, Lady Maren’s scorn echoing in my head:

’It’s a waste of time. She’s an omega. She would be a liability to her fellow students.’

"Breathe," Rennon’s voice interrupted gently, almost catching my thoughts. "No one is timing you. Begin again."

I forced air into my lungs and started over. The second time, the words untangled, each letter sharper than before.

I reached the end, lifted my gaze. "It’s... It’s about the first Alpha who unified two packs," I said.

Rennon nodded once, his expression unreadable. "Good. And why was his treaty challenged later?"

I hesitated, then answered, surprised to hear my own voice sound steady.

When I got it right, a faint warmth flickered across Rennon’s calm features. "Exactly. Next, let’s try arithmetic."

My stomach knotted. Numbers had always felt slippery, like water between my fingers. He placed a question in front of me: calculating percentages tied to harvest shares among packs.

"Think aloud," he prompted.

I whispered through the steps, half-afraid to hear my own mistakes. Rennon let me finish before quietly correcting where I’d gone wrong, explaining why, his tone never sharp.

When I tried again, the numbers began to make sense, each piece fitting like stones in a wall.

At some point, he rose to pour tea. "Five minutes. Let your eyes rest."

The tea smelled faintly of mint and calmed the flutter in my chest. We sat in companionable quiet — him gazing at the garden outside, me tracing the curve of steam from my cup.

After tea, he pushed a new paper toward me. "This one is harder. History and Moon Lore — my subject."

The question asked about the ’Night of the Fracture,’ an ancient event I had only heard whispers of as a child.

I frowned, trying to recall what my father once told me by candlelight. The memory was scattered, but it was there.

Slowly, haltingly, I wrote. My handwriting shook, but the words came.

Rennon read in silence, then met my eyes. "Very good recall," he murmured.

The quiet praise wrapped around me, gentler than sunlight. It made me dare to look up and meet his gaze, even if only for a heartbeat.

At the end of three hours, I felt wrung out, my wrist aching from writing. But in the neat stack before me lay answers — answers I had written.

"You did well, Elira. Truly," Rennon said softly, gathering the papers. "Step by step."

A spark of something fragile but warm glowed inside my chest.

---

Lunch came quietly.

Zenon didn’t show which wasn’t surprising, given that I wasn’t his favourite face to look at.

Lennon leaned back in his chair, a lazy grin dancing around his lips.

"So," he teased, voice low, "did my boring brother make you fall asleep?"

A small, shy laugh escaped me. "No. He was... patient." I replied, stealing a glance from Rennon, who had his fingers wrapped around a glass of water.

Lennon’s grin widened, warm as firelight. "Well, lucky you. Now it’s my turn to keep you awake."

---

The sun had lowered by the time Lennon led me to the practice room — a vast, open space with polished floors and tall windows that let in the last gold light of day.

Lennon’s teaching style was nothing like Rennon’s. Where Rennon was calm and methodical, Lennon was bright, animated — his words quick, his hands moving as he spoke.

"We’ll start with pack history," he declared, dropping lightly into the chair across from me. "But you’ll have to keep up, Elira."

I nodded, though my throat felt dry.

"Tell me," he said, leaning forward, "who brokered the peace after the Red Winter conflict?"

I hesitated, fumbling through memories. "Alpha... Dorren?"

"Almost," Lennon said, tapping the table once, sharp but not unkind. "Alpha Dorren was his son. The father, Alpha Morren, signed the treaty. Why do you think it failed after three years?"

I bit my lip. "Because... the border disputes weren’t settled?"

His eyes lit with approval. "Good. Exactly."

He flipped to a map, drawing quick lines with a charcoal pencil. "And what do you notice about this border?"

I leaned closer, studying the lines. "It cuts off river access for the southern pack."

"Right," Lennon nodded. "Which meant they had no trade advantage. That’s why they broke the treaty."

His teaching was alive, like a story being told. When I stumbled, he didn’t let silence stretch too long; instead, he teased softly, making me laugh despite my nerves.

"Wrong answer, try again. Don’t make me call Rennon to lecture you about Moon Lore," he’d joke.

When I mixed up two dates, my cheeks burned hot with shame. But Lennon only tilted his head and murmured, "Look at me, Elira. Breathe."

His steady gaze anchored me. I tried again — more slowly, more clearly. And this time, I got it right.

"Well done," Lennon murmured, his voice softer, almost proud.

As the lesson ended, Lennon stretched his arms over his head and exhaled. "Don’t tell Rennon, but I think you did better in my class."

A quiet laugh escaped me. "I won’t."

He ruffled my red hair lightly and then patted it down gently. "Good."

---

After dinner, I returned to my room, limbs heavy but heart strangely light.

I took out a scrap of paper, smoothed it over my vanity and scribbled something motivating on it.

Today, I studied. Today, I dared to hope.

I thought of my mother’s soft lullabies, my father’s steady hand guiding mine across letters.

"Did you see me?" I whispered.

Maybe they did.

Maybe, for the first time, I wasn’t just a forgotten omega. I was an aspiring student—a future Luna.

And most importantly, I was trying.

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