"His name was Prince Valerian,
" Brother Ignatius said, pouring tea with steady hands.
"Born 1698, died 1723.
Passionate, artistic, deeply romantic. And catastrophically obsessed."
Rhys's tea sat untouched. "How do you know this?"
"Because I was there." Ignatius met his eyes. "In my first life, I was Seer Thelis, mystic to the royal court of Ashbourne. I tried to warn Valerian about the curse he would bring down upon himself. He didn't listen."
"You're saying you're... reincarnated too?"
"We all are, Mr. Castor. Most people simply don't remember." Ignatius sipped his tea.
"But some souls are bound by such powerful magic that they remember everything. Valerian is one. You are another. And I... I remember enough."
Rhys felt lightheaded. "This is insane."
"Is it? More insane than a ghost who's murdered six of your lovers across three centuries?"
Rhys had no argument for that.
"Tell me," he said instead. "Tell me everything."
Ignatius spoke for two hours.
He told Rhys about Elara—a flower seller's daughter with eyes like summer storms and a laugh that could make even the stern prince smile. About how Valerian had fallen hopelessly, destructively in love with her.
"Their love was real," Ignatius said. "Don't doubt that. Valerian loved her with every piece of his soul. But he was also possessive, jealous, raised in a world where love meant ownership."
He told Rhys about the King's scheme—how Valerian's father had hired a man to drug Elara's wine at a festival, carry her to a bedroom, and stage a scene of infidelity. How Valerian had found them and believed the worst.
"He never gave her a chance to explain," Ignatius said quietly. "He saw, assumed, and condemned. As was his right as a prince."
He told Rhys about the imprisonment, the punishments, the way Valerian's love had curdled into something dark and possessive.
"He'd visit her cell," Ignatius continued, voice heavy with old grief. "He'd rage at her, call her a whore and a traitor... and then he'd take her. Roughly. Claiming it was his right since she'd sold herself to others."
Rhys felt sick.
"But she never betrayed him?"
"Never. Lord Cassian—Luna's brother, a barrister—discovered the truth. Tried to prove Elara's innocence. But Valerian wouldn't hear it. In his mind, Cassian was just another man trying to steal his love."
"So he killed him."
"After Elara was already dead. The King and Queen arranged for her 'suicide' in the dungeon." Ignatius's hands trembled slightly around his teacup. "Valerian found her hanging there. And instead of accepting his father's treachery, his own role in her death... he blamed her. For leaving him. For 'betraying' him even unto death."
"And then he cursed her."
"Cursed all of you." Ignatius set down his cup. "Elara to be reborn again and again, never finding peace. Cassian to remember just enough to want to save her, but never succeed. Luna to suffer loss in every life. And himself..."
"To be a ghost."
"To be obsessed. To be bound to this world, unable to move on, forced to repeat his jealous possessiveness for eternity." Ignatius leaned forward. "Do you understand, Rhys? Valerian is both perpetrator and victim. His curse has trapped him as much as it's trapped you."
"I don't care," Rhys said flatly. "He's murdered six people I loved. He murdered Kai. He's a monster."
"He's a man who never learned that love and control are not the same thing."
Ignatius stood, walked to the window. "And unless the cycle breaks, he'll kill again. And again. Until your soul is so damaged by repeated trauma that it shatters completely."
"How?"