Alpha's Regret After She Kneels novel Chapter 61

Chapter 61

Chapter 61

(Siena’s POV)

The room hums with tension, the kind that prickles against your skin and settles deep in your bones.

The announcer steps forward to the ceremonial platform, the silver emblem of the Grand Gathering glinting on his chest. The torchlight catches his face as he unfurls the traditional scroll, the crowd falling into a hushed silence.

“Honored packs of the Northern Territories,” he calls out, his voice carrying across the amphitheater. “After three days of trials, tests of strength, cunning, and pack unity, the Council of Elders has completed their deliberations.”

He pauses, a theatrical moment that draws the tension tighter. I feel Raiden’s presence across the arena, his energy as focused and intense as my own.

“In the Hunt Challenge, Silverfang Pack demonstrated exceptional coordination, with a score of ninety–two points.”

Cheers erupt from the Silverfang section, their silver and blue standards waving proudly.

“In the same challenge, Windhowl Pack showed remarkable adaptability, also earning ninety–two points.”

My pack members howl in approval, several warriors raising their fists in triumph.

The announcer continues, “In the Trial of Wits, Silverfang earned eighty–seven points for their solution to the mountain passage dispute.”

Raiden’s expression remains neutral, but I catch the slight tilt of his chin–pride carefully contained.

“Windhowl’s innovative approach to the same trial has earned them ninety points.”

A ripple of surprise moves through the crowd. We’ve pulled ahead, if only slightly.

“In the final challenge, the Rite of Unity,” the announcer’s voice grows more solemn, “Silverfang displayed traditional strength and coordination, earning ninety–three points.”

The Silverfang supporters pound their ceremonial drums, the rhythm echoing against the stone walls.

“Windhowl’s performance in the Rite of Unity was…” he pauses, consulting the scroll, “unconventional but effective. The Council awards ninety points.”

I exhale slowly. We’re still neck and neck.

The announcer raises his hands for silence, the crowd gradually stilling.

“The final scores have been tallied,” he declares. “With a total of 272 points, Silverfang Pack.”

Raiden’s supporters roar their approval.

“And with a total of 272 points,” the announcer continues, his voice rising above the noise, “Windhowl Pack.”

A moment of confusion follows before realization dawns.

“The final scores have been announced–Windhowl and Silverfang tied for first. An unprecedented result in the history of the Grand Gathering!”

Murmurs spread through the crowd like wildfire, some excited, others dismayed.

“According to ancient tradition,” the announcer calls out, clearly improvising now, “the leadership council must retreat to

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deliberate on this unusual circumstance. They will determine how to proceed with the traditional bestowing of the Winter Territories hunting rights.”

The Council Elders rise from their seats, their expressions grave as they file toward the Sacred Grove,

“All pack members are asked to remain within the gathering grounds,” the announcer instructs. “The Council’s decision will be announced before moonrise. Until then, the ceremonial fires will remain lit, and the truce between all packs remains in effect.”

As the announcer steps down, the formal structure of the gathering dissolves into clusters of animated conversation.

Across the amphitheater, Raiden’s eyes find mine. Neither of us moves, both understanding that we’re suspended in a limbo of cautious optimism and unspoken rivalries.

Around me, people mill about, their laughter too loud and their congratulations too forced. It’s all a performance, the kind wolves are so adept at–hiding their anxieties behind toothy smiles and sharp eyes.

Windhowl is no exception, though there’s a quiet pride in the way my pack carries themselves tonight. We’ve come further than anyone thought possible, even further than I dared to hope.

I should feel proud. Triumphant, even. But the weight in my chest won’t let me celebrate.

I glance across the room, my gaze drawn to Raiden like a magnet I can’t resist. He stands surrounded by his Silverfang entourage, his tall frame stiff, his midnight eyes distant.

Lila clings to his arm, her laugh cutting sharply through the noise as she leans into him, whispering something in his ear.

But he isn’t listening.

His gaze shifts, scanning the room until it lands on me. For a moment, our eyes meet, and the air between us seems to thicken. There’s something in his expression–something I can’t name but recognize all the same.

It’s dangerous, this feeling.

I break the connection first, turning away as my stomach twists painfully. For years, I’ve wanted him to look at me like that, to see me, to acknowledge me. But now that he does, it feels like too little, too late.

“May I?”

The voice pulls me from my thoughts, and I turn to see Zion standing beside me. He’s holding two champagne flutes, his smile warm and familiar.

“Of course,” I say, accepting the glass he offers.

He raises his glass in a quiet toast, his dark eyes steady on mine. “To Windhowl,” he says. “And to you. Regardless of what the council decides, you’ve already won.”

His words catch me off–guard, and I feel a flicker of warmth in my chest. Zion has always been supportive, his belief in me unwavering even when my own faith faltered.

“Thank you,” I say softly, meaning it. “For believing in me when few others did.”

He smiles, a genuine smile that reaches his eyes. “It wasn’t hard to believe, Siena. You’ve always had it in you—you just needed the chance to show it.”

I can’t help but smile back, his kindness easing some of the weight in my chest. Zion is easy to talk to, his presence steady and grounding. But even as I appreciate his company, there’s a part of me that feels detached, as though I’m watching our

conversation from a distance.

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Because no matter how kind or supportive Zion is, my wolf remains silent.

Unmoved.

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I know what he wants. His interest in me has been clear for some time now, and while I admire him, there’s no spark. No pull. My wolf is still tied to the mate who rejected us, still loyal despite everything.

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Zion seems to sense my hesitation, but he doesn’t press. Instead, he lifts his glass again, his tone turning playful. “At the very least, you owe me a dance once this is all over. A celebration doesn’t feel complete without one.”

Before I can respond, I feel a shift in the air–a presence that sets my nerves on edge. I glance up to see Raiden approaching, his expression thunderous, his midnight eyes locked on Zion’s hand resting lightly on my arm.

“The council requests our presence,” Raiden says, his voice clipped and formal. But his eyes don’t leave Zion’s, the unspoken challenge clear in his gaze.

Zion doesn’t move, his smile sharpening into something more calculated. “Your timing is impeccable as always, Alpha King.” he says, his tone casual but laced with sarcasm. “Though perhaps inconsistent, given your previous disinterest in the Luna’s companionship.”

Raiden growls, his midnight eyes darkening as something shifts in his expression.

Zion’s comment has forced him to confront a truth he’s avoided for years: his hypocrisy, his failure to claim what he now seems unwilling to let go.

For a moment, the tension between them is palpable, a silent clash of wills. Then, without a word, Raiden turns to me, his expression softening just enough to be noticeable.