Black Knights Coursing Novels & Stories

The King continued, "May this tournament be a testament to our kingdom's strength and unity. Let the games commence, and may the best knight prevail!" As he resumed his seat, the trumpets blared, signaling the start of the joust. Knights in gleaming armor rode out onto the field, their horses prancing with excitement. Banners fluttered in the breeze, and the air buzzed with energy. Ahvi leaned closer to me, her eyes wide with excitement. "This is it! Look, there's Lord Cromwell!" She pointed eagerly to a knight with a striking red plume on his helmet. I followed her gaze and spotted Sirius Black among the combatants, his black curls peeking out from under his helmet. He glanced toward the Em

A man in a white suit and black cloak approached them. His hair was short and white, while his skin was slightly wrinkled. He had a holy cross necklace around his neck and two scabbards on his waist, one of them was empty. “Who are you?” The knight from the crowd asked. “Christopher Bright. A Hunter. Veteran rank” The man showed a white Hunter tag to the knights and stored it away. “It seems that this had turned into a vampire, perhaps.” “A vampire?” Christopher looked at the crowd, he was searching for someone. “You. You were with him, weren’t you?” He said while pointing at the woman that screamed earlier.

“Sir Simon and Sir Troy, you two come with me to find Ryia.” The Grand Knights nodded in response before they split up, turning in different paths. ‘I can’t fail now,’ Kael thought as he squinted ahead at their direction, his black hair dancing wildly with the breeze. A few minutes after, they spotted some wild beasts ahead. It was a group of white bergoras, swinging on the high branches. The knights must’ve caught their attention.

He mouthed a silent thank you before the light in his eyes vanished forever and his body went limp against mine. Behind me, the other two bitten scouts had fully transformed. Their screams were inhuman, a twisted song of bone-snapping agony and predatory lust. They lunged at the group of warriors gathered at the tent entrance, their silver daggers flashing. Kaelen was a whirlwind of black steel, his movements a blur of lethal grace as he and his Black Wolves drove them back. They fought with desperate ferocity, but the cursed warriors were faster, their strength amplified by the darkness in their veins.

The rest of the box is white quartz which has a cavity inside it to hold the pieces. Jessie squeals running her hands over it, then she opens it to reveal the pieces inside it. Which are all in their own little divots in blue velvet cushioning. The pieces are unlike anything he’d ever seen before, the two sets are made of Damascus steel, one in blue and one in gold. The rooks, are styled to look like the bird of the same name, the knights are horses rampant. The bishops are men with mitres on, and carrying croziers.

Eli Blackthorn doesn’t do pageantry. We do black leather, old scars, and the kind of hospitality that involves counting knives before and after a visit. Silvercrest rolls in like a storybook that lost its mind. Carriages with lacquered sides gleam under the weak winter sun, each wheel rim banded in polished steel. Their guards wear matched mail, blue overcoats embroidered with silver swirls. Even their horses look moisturized. Our wolves don’t even pretend not to stare and I watch with undisguised interest.

"And we see what they want." The two of them moved forward, sticking to the trees and keeping their distance from the group of rebels. As they neared a clearing, Lia spotted them—a group of wolves, their faces weathered and scarred, their eyes sharp with suspicion. They weren’t purebloods. They were Greykin, like her. One of them stepped forward, a woman with silver hair and a black cloak that blended seamlessly into the shadows. Her eyes, like Cassian’s, glowed with a fierce intensity, and she immediately assessed them, her gaze flicking from Lia to Cassian.

Shapes moved on the other side—hulking silhouettes with too many limbs, eyes like furnace coals, war-hounds with jaws that dripped black flame. Victoria’s arms tightened around the reins. Raven’s own arms were locked around Victoria’s waist, gauntleted hands clasped over obsidian scale. The stallion snorted, ears flat, but didn’t falter. Behind them, the Valrosian column rode in grim silence—one hundred knights in black and crimson, banners furled against the wind that howled from the rift like damned voices. Commander Thorne rode at their flank, helm visor down, scarred face unreadable. He raised a fist; the column slowed to a controlled canter.

“I’m just a history major who spends so much time in the archives making research.I can’t fight whatever you are against Karl He walked towards his desk and picked up a brown journal that had the same wolf knot symbol . It looked like generations after generations had laid their hands on the journal.You can make your research. It’s way more important than you know. The order of the Silver Knights has been operating in the shadows for centuries-but they leave some traces.Old write ups,coded letters,record of disappearance that were written of as disappearance and accidents.

Malachi’s voice. "Tonight, we hunt the rarest game in the history of the Sanguine Court! The Architect and his Beast have returned to us! The hunt is open! The grand prize to the one who brings me the Muse's heart!" The walls of the vault began to slide upward. "F**k," Kaelor said, his eyes turning a shadowed gold. He grabbed Aradaa’s waist, pulling him back as the first of the Vampire Knights appeared at the end of the hall, their red visors glowing in the dark.