Black Black Veil Brides Novels & Stories

“It’s time to go. You’ve been out here long enough.” But Amelia didn’t move. Her eyes stayed on the coffin until the last bit of soil covered it. Her lips trembled. “Till death do us apart, Miguel,” she whispered. Then, the sound of heels clicked against the wet pavement. Whispers rippled through the crowd. Katherina Blackwood appeared under a large black umbrella, dressed in a fitted mourning dress. Her mother, Altricia, walked beside her cold, composed, and out of place among the mourners.

A wedding that sacrifices the bride because the bride must stand between the Queen and the Black Prince. If without the absolute order of the King, uniting the Black Prince and the Queen's family in marriage would be impossible. It was here that Amanda White and Illarion Black boarded the carriage to His Majesty's residence, where their agreement began.

Dark. Intricate. Not ink. Not entirely. Something older. Something that doesn’t belong on human skin. My breath catches. Because I’ve seen it before. Not like this. Not fully. But pieces of it. Fragments. Etched into old books. Spoken in warnings. Taught to pups who were expected to lead one day. My hand stills. My gaze locks onto it. “What… is that?” Nyxara moves instantly. Too fast. She grabs my wrist and shoves my hand away from her, stepping back in the same motion, putting distance between us again.

My girls; Afsana, Liya, and Leina, were stiff, waiting, watching me like they knew something was coming. Nobody touched the food. Forks scraped plates for show. That was it. Kavin finally broke the silence. “This is dead,” he said, leaning back. “I’ve seen funerals with more fun.” Selene smirked, eyes cutting my way. “Well, fitting, isn’t it? Considering the bride nearly buried herself at the gala.” The fork in my hand stilled. I could feel Drayan watching me, like he knew the second half of that sentence was going to explode.

A ripple of gasps spread through the hall. In that cloak, in that color, she stood out. Not just among the breeders. Among the Scions, too. Gadreel sneered, his voice cutting through the silence. “Breeders are meant to wear ceremonial white. Not this.” Fenric stepped forward, his chest nearly colliding with Gadreel’s as he towered over him. “She’s wearing it underneath,” he said with a smirk. “Our lady cannot handle the cold well.” Gadreel’s face twisted. He shoved Fenric back, but barely made him move.

I did not look at him. Fiancé. The word sat in the room and I let it sit there and examined what I thought about it, which was less than I might have expected and more complicated than I preferred. "They were shopping for wedding dresses," the manager continued. "The jewelry store was their second stop. The veil she was wearing, she had kept it from the bridal shop." I filed this away. The veil from the dreams, the veil the priestess had described, the veil that had been exactly right in every particular, and she had been wearing it because she was shopping for her wedding.

News of my marriage to Charlie spread quickly, and soon the entire upper circle was buzzing. Everyone was waiting for the drama to unfold. On the day of the wedding, the Quirrel and Gillan families had booked the same hotel. Both our ballrooms were located at opposite ends, separated only by the central courtyard. "Look at her. She's marrying a man on his deathbed. It's obvious she's just after his money," someone said. I turned and saw Adrian leaning heavily on a cane. His complexion was sallow, and his eyes were sunken deep into their sockets. He looked like a walking skeleton.

Inside was a white bridal veil. Soaked in blood. Still warm. And beneath it, a note written in crimson strokes, “You should’ve stayed dead.” The lights flickered. The air temperature dropped ten degrees in a second. And from somewhere behind her, very close to her, a woman laughed. And inside the box, Jessica sends her wedding gift, a white veil drenched in fresh blood…

But someone had used it. And I knew someone who might know the scent of that kind of magic. Someone who’d smelled it once already. Maeve Holloway had been the first to recognize the draining charm at the Valentine’s Ball. She was the one who’d identified the signature and traced it to Thorne Blackpine and confirmed that he’d carried out Sampson Reed’s orders. But Thorne was dead. So was Sampson. Both of them were killed during the battle after spring break. Two names added to the school’s Memorial wall, two branches of the Blackpine family dead and done for.

The first time I saw my wedding photo trending online, I didn’t cry. I stared. The image had been cropped strategically. Cassian stood tall, immaculate in his tailored tuxedo. I stood beside him, smiling softly, unaware of what was waiting for me at the end of the aisle. The headline read: BLACKRIDGE WEDDING ENDS IN MYSTERY — BRIDE VANISHES HOURS AFTER CEREMONY Mystery. Such a gentle word for humiliation.