White Veil Novels & Stories

"Vincent! If you drive away now, we'll never be husband and wife!" But he left anyway, not looking back. Grace had always loved seeing him in white, so he threw aside the black suit I had sewn for him with my own hands and changed into white. A year later, Vincent returned. By then, my belly was swollen with life, and I was holding onto another man while hosting a baby shower. And the man wore the black suit Vincent had thrown away. Vincent went mad, claiming he was my husband, but no one believed him. ...

he said urgently. I blinked in confusion and snapped my gaze at him. “Veil? What Veil?” He did not slow down. He started pulling me forward quickly, and Cane followed right beside us. “Did you think Obsidian Veil was just an ordinary name?” Caden asked without looking at me. “I don’t know,” I said honestly. “Nobody explained anything to me properly.” “There is a Veil,” he said. “A barrier that hides this place from human eyes. It keeps the world separated. What you see here is only visible because you have been brought inside the protected territory.”

This was a dream, and I knew it was a dream while I was inside it, which somehow made it worse, because knowing it was a dream meant knowing it would end. A veil. That was the clearest thing. White, moving in a wind I could not feel, translucent enough that I could see the shape of her behind it without being able to see her face. Gold eyes, watching me through the fabric with an expression I could never fully describe after waking, something between recognition and patience, the look of someone who knew exactly how this ended and was waiting for me to catch up.

CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED The dark tarmac road seemed to stretch on forever, slick with an oily black rain that never quite touched my skin. I was walking, my feet bare and numb against the cold ground, drawn toward a towering iron gate that bled black mist into a gray sky. Written across the stone archway in letters that burned with a faint, ghostly luminescence was a single word: VEIL. As my hand reached out to touch the freezing metal, a woman’s voice, distant, echoey, and laced with an ancient authority, boomed through the emptiness, vibrating directly inside my skull.

It began as a hum. Not voices. Whispering. But the thrum of magic against magic. Small. Purposeful. Intimate in that it sent shivers down my spine. I followed the last surge I’d detected coming from the west wall, recreating how it bounced against the outer layer of Evelina’s bespoke wards. She hadn’t picked up on it. Others wouldn’t. It didn’t activate anything. Didn’t send any alerts. That was the intention. Maelin wasn’t weaving a cage to catch me with force. She was weaving decoys.

Their muffled screams and pleas for mercy created a pathetic, desperate chorus that echoed off the vaulted ceilings. On an elevated throne of white marble sat, Vhalir. He was a man of unsettling beauty, his skin as white as bleached bone and his wavy, golden hair falling over his shoulders like spun silk. A delicate, masterfully crafted silicon mask covered exactly half of his face, hiding whatever lay beneath. He lounged on the throne, his pure white robes with gold accents flowing around him like a shroud. Between his long, elegant fingers, he twirled a small glass ball. He tilted his head, his eyes half closed, as if he were listening to a symphony only he could hear.

The Veil was not only testing the crown but also the resolve of those who served it. Aera traversed the halls with silent grace, observing, listening, and guiding. The crown emitted a faint glow, illuminating subtle manipulations and revealing concealed threads of influence. Every misstep, every hesitation, every trace of apprehension was meticulously recorded and analysed, preparing for the day when the Veil’s network would be unveiled.

Pera woke to the cold bite of metal around her wrists. Her head throbbed from the dart, vision blurry as she blinked against dim fluorescent lights. She was chained to a heavy wooden chair in what looked like an abandoned warehouse basement damp concrete walls, distant dripping water, and the metallic scent of blood. The oversized shirt Marcus had given her was torn further, barely covering her breasts and leaving her cum-streaked thighs exposed. His dried seed still clung to her skin, a possessive reminder that clashed violently with her new reality.

The white veil was a sheer, delicate shroud draped over my copper hair, pinned in place by a diamond tiara that felt like a crown of ice. "The press has lined the entire block, mademoiselle," Madame Laurent’s assistant whispered as she fluffed the massive, architectural train of my gown. "The flashbulbs are visible even through the stained glass." "Let them look," I said, my voice empty of any warmth. The door to the vestry clicked open, and the seamstresses instantly curtsied, gathering their shears and spare pins before slipping out of the room like ghosts. In the mirror’s reflection, Killian walked in.