Her eyes seemed to carry the whole history of Kilmore within them.
Eoghan’s expression sharpened, and before he could stop himself, he answered, “That’s not possible.”
Something in his face tightened, and his voice grew sharper, carrying a clear warning.
“Watch what you say, Princess.”
Since the marriage decree, Aisling had become Princess Eimear to most people.
Everyone addressed her simply as “Princess.”
She didn’t rush to argue with him.
She merely sat across from him, her gaze steady and calm, as though she’d stated nothing more than an obvious fact.
Eoghan had been angry at first.
What she’d said sounded like the wild talk of an alarmist.
But the longer she held his gaze, the more that certainty began to crack.
A frightening thought slipped into his mind.
What if she’s right?
He tried to push it away.
He could tell himself that she was young and had no real proof.
He could dismiss it as fear speaking through her.
But the longer that quiet gaze rested on him, the harder it became to believe his own excuses.
When he finally looked at her again, her eyes seemed impossibly deep.
Unsettling.
He almost couldn’t hold her gaze, as though he were afraid he might see his own growing fear reflected there.
Aisling didn’t need to say much more.
She simply sat there, as though slowly unrolling some ancient, weighty scroll before him.
Her eyes truly did seem to hold Kilmore’s entire history, its rise, its decline, and everything still waiting in the years ahead.
For a long moment, Eoghan’s expression shifted.
Then, finally, he stopped resisting and gave her his full attention.
“Why do you say this, Princess?” he asked.
“Kilmore is vast, wealthy, heavily populated, with a strong army and good weapons.
Even if the clans invaded, how could they possibly break through our defenses?”
Aisling lifted her eyes.
He was arguing with her, but she could already tell.
He believed her.
“The world is complicated, and nothing about the future is certain.
Even the wisest astrologer can’t see everything ahead.
Her voice was soft, almost as light as the wings of that imagined butterfly.
“But some things really are inevitable.”
Her expression grew more serious.
“The great families holding all the power at court.
Their special privileges.
Ordinary people struggling beneath them.
The old noble lines left to wither and forgotten.
The near vanished blood of King Diarmuid and Crown Prince Tadhg.”
She paused.
“And…”
Her gaze drifted toward the pale green willows beyond the window.
“The weather turning harsher every year.”
“Throughout history, ages of prosperity and ages of ruin have always followed the climate.
Warm years bring good harvests and growing populations, golden ages, most of the time.
Cold years bring poor harvests.
That’s when the northern clans come south to take what they can, and everything begins to fall apart.”
Her voice lowered.
“And we’re in the coldest stretch of it now.”
The final words settled heavily between them.
That was why the clans and Kilmore could never truly make peace.
Kilmore simply no longer possessed the strength to drive them away permanently.
The kingdom had no shortage of skilled generals, but none could match the two extraordinary warriors of the age, Ronan and Bearach.
As long as Ronan lived, he kept Bearach contained in the north.
That fragile balance was what allowed Kilmore to survive, squeezed between the two.
But once Ronan died and fighting broke out among his own people, Bearach would have nothing left standing between him and the south.
Eoghan had heard the phrase “climate cycle” before, warm seasons, cold seasons, the turning of the years.
But he’d never heard anyone connect all those pieces on such a vast scale.
Something flickered in his eyes.
He turned the argument over carefully.
The longer he thought about it, the more uneasy he became.
Because the problems Aisling had described didn’t sit at the surface of Kilmore.
They reached all the way down to its roots.
Like a tree rotting from within, no amount of pruning at the branches could save it.
When King Diarmuid had first united the land, he’d raised capable men regardless of their birth.
The great families still held considerable power, but they hadn’t controlled everything.
But once Ailill took the throne, desperate to secure his position, he’d leaned heavily on the noble families who had previously been kept in check.
Those loyal to Diarmuid’s old vision were gradually pushed aside or quietly demoted.
Now, under Cathal, there was almost no room left at court for anyone without the right bloodline.
The great families sat at the very top of society.
They held nearly every important government position, owned enormous stretches of land, and enjoyed privileges passed down through generations.
They were exempt from taxes, protected their relatives, gathered their own followers and former officials, received land grants, commanded servants, accumulated wealth, and passed all of it to their descendants.
As the most powerful men at court, they continued writing laws that favored their own families.
They quietly swallowed public land, divided servants and soldiers among themselves, and allowed the cycle to continue.
The great families grew richer.
The common people and tenant farmers carried the burden.
In truth, some of the most powerful families had already become warlords in everything but name.
Between corruption, endless warfare, and repeated disasters, uprisings had already begun appearing in various places.
The kingdom’s fall was no longer a question of if.
Only when.
Eoghan himself came from one of those great families.
Yet he had no love for the way his own class behaved.
Since Ailill’s reign, once the nobility had firmly taken hold of the court, they’d surrendered themselves to excess.
They competed over who could spend the most.
A single meal could cost an absurd fortune, only for them to complain afterward that there was nothing worth eating.
That appetite had spread into their estates as well.
Each family built something grander than the last, competing endlessly for prestige while ordinary people suffered more with every passing year.
Working in the royal treasury, Eoghan had witnessed that extravagance firsthand.
He hated it.
Deeply.
And yet he’d always felt powerless to change any of it.
Then something shifted behind his eyes.
He lifted his gaze and fixed it on Aisling.
“Princess.”
His voice was quieter now.
“You didn’t say all this just to frighten me, did you?”
He studied her carefully.
“Princess, what is it you actually want from me?”