Six months later, they married in a small ceremony. Just close friends, no family (Rhys's had never reconciled, and that was okay).
Brother Ignatius officiated, looking pleased that his help all those years ago had led to this.
"Do you, Rhys, take Liam to be your lawfully wedded husband?"
Rhys thought about all the weddings that had never happened. Six lives, six lovers killed before the vows could be spoken.
But this time was different. This time, there was no ghost waiting to destroy what he loved.
"I do," he said clearly.
"And do you, Liam, take Rhys to be your lawfully wedded husband?"
"I do."
"Then by the power vested in me, I now pronounce you married. You may kiss."
They did—and in that moment, the very last echo of the curse shattered.
Rhys felt it. A final severing. The invisible thread connecting him to seven lifetimes of suffering finally cut clean.
He was free. Completely, utterly free.
At the reception, Brother Ignatius pulled Rhys aside.
"I felt it," the monk said. "The curse truly ending. How does it feel?"
"Like I can finally breathe." Rhys looked across the room at his husband. "Like I'm finally just me. Not Elara's reincarnation. Not a cursed soul. Just Rhys."
"And Pryce?"
"Still isolated, as far as I know." Rhys's expression was complicated. "Part of me wonders if he's changed. If he's found any peace."
"Does it matter?"
"I don't know. Maybe someday I'll check on him. But not now. Now is for celebrating life, not mourning ghosts."
Brother Ignatius smiled. "Wise words."