One | Thread of Gold | In Bloom
Pairing - Rhysand x reader
Word count - 2.4k
Warnings - None
|| series masterlist || next ->
Rhysand's POV -
Being High Lord of the Night Court was not merely a title—it was a weight. A crown carved from duty and sacrifice, heavier with every passing day.
And today, it pressed too tightly against my skull, thrummed behind my eyes, and gnawed at the edges of my temper like some ancient beast.
So I fled. Not in the way cowards run, but in the way survivors breathe.
I flew to the farthest, quietest corner of Velaris I could reach—miles away from Hewn City and Keir's insufferable theatrics. Away from politics. Away from masks and darkness.
I landed in a garden. One of the many hidden throughout Velaris, but this one felt... untouched. Sacred, almost.
The air shimmered with the delicate scent of lilac and moonflower, and the world here seemed to exhale in peace.
I had come to be alone. To think. To forget. But then I saw her. Not something. Someone.
She was bent low among the blossoms, her slender fingers trailing through petals like whispers through silk. Humming. Softly. A song I didn't know, but one that felt familiar—like a dream I'd once had and forgotten upon waking.
She hadn't seen me. Too enraptured by the flowers, by the soil, by the moment. She moved like she belonged to this place—no, as if this place belonged to her.
Vines curled at her feet, butterflies lingered in her hair, and not a single creature seemed disturbed by her presence. Nature itself bowed before her, silent and adoring.
Her dress was the colour of twilight—light lavender, flowing like water over her curves as she turned with a gentle grace.
There was magic in her, though I could not yet name it. Power, yes. But something else, too. Something soft. Sacred.
When she smiled, stars help me, when she smiled, I forgot how to breathe.
It wasn't just her beauty, though she had that in abundance. It was the way she glowed, as though joy radiated through her skin.
A lightness the world rarely allowed. A purity that defied the war, the court, the pain.
And in that moment, everything stopped. The pounding in my head quieted. The ache in my bones dissolved. The weight of centuries lifted, just a little.
I felt something ancient stir inside me, something I hadn't felt before, something I had begun to believe I would never feel.
A pull. A tether.
A golden thread, faint but unyielding, stretching from the centre of my chest toward her. Not commanding—but calling.
I moved before I knew I had decided to.
Step by step, as if my soul recognised hers long before my mind could understand what was happening. As if every inch of me had been waiting for this moment, for her, without ever knowing it.
And in the stillness of that garden, surrounded by blooming things and ancient magic, I walked toward the female who would change everything.
Reader's POV -
The day had dawned gentle and golden, the kind of morning that made the world feel kind.
Sunlight poured through the windows of my room in soft, lazy ribbons, warming the stone beneath my bare feet as I padded toward the open balcony.
A breeze kissed my cheek, carrying the scent of jasmine and early summer blooms.
Today would be a garden day. I knew it the moment the wind touched my skin.
After dressing in a lilac gown, one that fluttered like petals when I walked, I slipped quietly through the halls of the estate and out into the world that truly made me feel alive. Where I didn't have to be anything but me.
The gardens welcomed me as they always did.
The air was thick with the perfume of roses, hyacinths, and starflowers. Vines curled gently around stone archways, and butterflies danced in the shafts of light that pierced the canopy above.
Each step I took seemed to stir more life—buds opening, colours deepening, as if the garden itself responded to the magic that lived in my fingertips.
Soft, pink light glowed faintly around my hands, trailing behind as I moved from flower to flower. I hummed an old lullaby, one my mother used to sing when the world felt too loud.
Here, among the blooms and silence, I felt safe. Whole. Hidden from the noise and sharpness of everything beyond these hedges.
But then—I felt it.
Before I saw him, I felt him. Like a shift in the wind. Like a shadow falling across a field of sunflowers. Power. Deep and ancient, curling at the edges of the garden like a warning—and a promise.
I turned. And my breath caught.
A tall figure stood at the garden's edge, bathed in dusk and shadow despite the sunlight. He moved like night itself, effortless, silent, too large for the space and yet perfectly at home within it. Hair dark as the void, eyes like crushed violets, glowing faintly in the golden light.
And when our eyes met...
A pulse. A golden ache bloomed in my chest, so sudden and so warm it nearly knocked me off my feet. My heart beat once, twice and then everything changed.
It felt as if the world had tilted, realigned itself around this one being. This stranger who felt anything but strange.
I didn't mean to speak. The words just fell from my lips, soft and reverent.
"You're my mate..."
I lifted a trembling hand to my chest, as if I could press the feeling deeper. As if I could hold onto the golden thread I felt weaving itself through my soul—connecting, binding.
The High Lord of the Night Court. Rhysand.
The name alone carried weight. Whispers. Stories of power and shadows, of beauty and destruction wrapped in a smile.
He was the most powerful male in all of Prythian and he was looking at me like I was made of stars.
His hands were in his pockets, but his gaze... that gaze. It traced over me like a caress, possessive, thoughtful, unreadable. Not unkind, but sharp. Piercing. I felt it like fire on skin.
"I am," he said, voice a low purr that rippled through the quiet garden like a wave of night.
I flushed, my cheeks warming under the weight of it—of him. I didn't know where to look.
His eyes wouldn't release me. I didn't know how to breathe, how to move under that gaze that seemed to see everything. Every shy thought. Every secret corner of me.
He was beautiful the way a storm is beautiful. Wild and terrifying. A being carved from moonlight and power. And somehow... he was mine.
"Are you disappointed?" he asked, his voice like velvet—low, smooth, too careful.
The words drifted between us on the warm garden air, but they struck something fragile in me.
I didn't look at him. I couldn't. My gaze dropped to the stone path beneath our feet, fingers absently brushing a butterfly that hovered too close, fluttering near my wrist like it couldn't bear to leave. It danced lazily around me, hungry for attention I gave effortlessly.
His presence was too much—too large, too still, too beautifully dangerous.
"No... no, I'm just nervous," I admitted, my voice barely more than a breath. I still didn't meet his eyes.
There was a pause. And then he moved.
His steps were so silent I didn't realise he had drawn closer until I felt him—his warmth, his shadow, the press of his magic around mine like a velvet glove.
A knuckle brushed against my jaw, feather-light.
He tilted my chin up with such tender insistence I couldn't help but meet his gaze.
And gods those eyes. Violet, glowing, endless. Like he'd swallowed the entire sky at midnight and held the stars captive in his stare.
"Don't be, sweetheart," he whispered, his voice barely there, like a secret he wanted only me to hear. "We'll figure this out together."
His words wrapped around me like a cloak—soft, warm, protective. The way he said sweetheart made my heart flutter painfully, and I knew in that moment, without a doubt, that he could ruin me with just one look and heal me in the same breath.
"Figure it out?" I echoed, struggling not to fall too deep into the calm storm of his gaze.
"Yes," he said softly, "we'll decide what to do next. Together."
He stepped back then, slowly, as if pulling himself from something sacred. I felt the loss of his touch like a sudden cold wind. My skin ached where his knuckle had grazed it.
"The Mother has blessed me with something so..." He paused, his expression unreadable for a moment before it softened. "So sweet. I won't spoil it by rushing."
I could only blink at him, my throat too full of strange, swirling emotion to speak. He looked at me like I was a wonder. Like he had seen war and pain and death—and now, me.
He straightened then, offering me space. Offering me choice.
"I'm Rhysand," he said with a slight incline of his head, that same bright amusement sparking in his eyes. "Let's start with something simple. Tell me your name?"
He gestured slightly to the path beside him, his body turned as if inviting me to walk—not ordering, never forcing, just... inviting.
I hesitated. Then nodded.
When I whispered my name, it felt small. Like it didn't match the grandeur of the moment.
But when he repeated it, slowly, carefully, like a prayer, it bloomed between us. He smiled when he said it, and I saw something shift in his gaze. Something softer, more reverent.
A part of me bloomed too, just hearing it on his lips.
"You like flowers?" he asked after a moment, his voice teasing, warm.
I looked down and realised the trail I was leaving behind—tiny blossoms unfurling in my footsteps, each petal glowing faintly with the same soft pink magic that had bled from my fingers earlier.
I blushed instantly, my cheeks warming like sunrise.
"Yes—sorry, I—" I stammered, then stopped myself, correcting quietly, "I love them. I love nature. It's... always felt like home."
He looked at me like I'd just said something profound.
Another butterfly drifted toward me, delicate wings catching the sunlight like stained glass. It settled on my fingertip without hesitation, as if it knew me. As if I had been made from the same magic that called them.
Smiling shyly, I lifted my hand and offered it toward him. The butterfly took flight and landed, of all places, on the bridge of his nose.
I gasped softly, covering my mouth.
Rhysand blinked, perfectly still, and then... he smiled. Slowly, wickedly, but there was something genuine under the mischief. Something enchanted.
The butterfly didn't flee. It merely flitted down to his shoulder and perched there, bold as anything, bright and innocent against the black of his clothing.
A brilliant contrast. A symbol, somehow.
Soft against dark. Light against power. Me—against him.
His eyes found mine again, and this time, they held no shields.
I didn't know what to say. I only knew that the garden felt warmer now, the sun brighter, and the bond between us, faint and golden, was quietly beginning to glow.
"Careful," Rhysand murmured, still smiling as the butterfly lingered on his shoulder, wings rising and falling like it was breathing with him. "Keep doing that and I might start to believe you're some long-lost garden nymph sent just to tempt me."
I blinked, startled by the teasing lilt in his voice and the warmth that bloomed in my chest at his words.
"I'm not a nymph," I said quickly, shaking my head, though I couldn't quite fight the small smile that crept across my lips.
"No?" he asked, stepping closer, just enough that his presence brushed against mine again. Like shadow curling into sunlight.
"I'm just... me."
Rhysand's violet eyes sparkled with something unreadable. "Just you," he echoed softly, as if testing the sound of it. "Then the world is luckier than it deserves."
I looked down again, my cheeks warming. "You're... very poetic."
"I'm a shameless flatterer, is what I am," he said with a wink. "But I don't lie, especially not about beautiful things."
His words made my stomach flutter. I didn't know how to respond to compliments like that—so smooth, so certain. No one had ever spoken to me like this, as if I were something rare and precious.
"I like your voice," I said before I could stop myself.
His brows rose, and then his grin turned into something softer. "Do you?"
"It sounds like... midnight," I offered shyly. "Like velvet and starlight. Like something that could sing the moon to sleep."
There was a pause. Rhysand tilted his head at me, looking at me like I was the strange one—as if he were the one trying to keep up.
"Cauldron, you are sweet," he murmured, almost to himself. "No one talks like that anymore."
"I didn't mean to be strange..."
He laughed gently, a deep, quiet sound that rumbled in his chest. "You're not strange. You're... refreshing."
We walked in silence for a few steps, my magic still faintly glowing in my wake, the garden responding like it knew I was content. My fingers trailed along a vine that unfurled as I passed, releasing a burst of pink blossoms in its wake.
"What about you?" I asked softly, curious despite my nerves. "Do you like nature?"
He looked at the flowers trailing behind me, the butterflies that still danced in the air between us, and then gave a slow, thoughtful smile.
"I like you in it."
My mouth parted slightly, and he chuckled again, clearly amused by how easily he could fluster me.
"I meant yes," he said. "Nature reminds me that even the Night has its gardens. That beauty and peace can grow in the dark."
That quieted me.
Rhysand glanced sideways at me, something gentler flickering in his expression. "You're nervous," he said, "but you're not afraid."
I hesitated. "Should I be?"
He looked away, almost as if my answer mattered more than he wanted me to know. "No," he said eventually. "But many are."
I glanced at him, at the carved lines of his jaw, the impossible calm of his step, the power radiating from him like the steady pulse of a star.
"You don't scare me," I said, and then added, more hesitantly, "...You fascinate me."
The corner of his mouth lifted in that now-familiar half-smile. "Careful, darling. Keep talking like that and I'll start thinking fate has a very wicked sense of humour, pairing you with me."
I stopped walking, butterflies still circling me in lazy loops.
"Maybe fate isn't wicked," I whispered. "Maybe... she just knew you needed a little light."
He stopped too. And in the quiet space between us, something ancient stirred.
He stepped closer again, but slower this time. As if he knew I was still deciding how close I would let him come.
"I think," he said softly, "I'll enjoy being ruined by it."
And I—utterly lost in his eyes, with the bond between us glowing like morning gold—could only whisper,
"...Me too."
A/n - New story!!
If you're into sweet, shy reader meets charming, poetic Rhysand then I think you'll enjoy what's to come!
Reader in this one is gentle, kind, and just a little bashful—so if you're not into that no worries at all! I've got other stories with different dynamics that might be more your vibe :)
We begin with the bond snapping and all the feelings that come with it. Rhys, naturally, is as extra and swoony as ever because he can tell she's easy to fluster and, well... he's not above weaponizing that with a smirk or two x
Also I'm obsessed with her powers?? They're all soft and gentle so this has been so fun to write.
Let me know what you think <3
In Bloom tag list - @booksbypisces @thisfireheart @raisam @xadenswhore @hyruledemigod20 @justtryingtosurvive02 @cubanfire @strawberry-moonpies @booksstarryskies @maltemp @euphoniiousss @queenoffeysand @morelovemorepeacemoretattoo-blog @rosie-posie08 @lilah-asteria
