The memory of Gebru's betrayal lingered in Tafari's mind like a thorn lodged beneath the skin. He had not exposed his cousin, for doing so would have drawn scandal upon his family and perhaps weakened his father's influence at court. But silence was not forgiveness. Silence was calculation.
And calculation required patience.
When Tafari returned with the caravan to Harar, his father Ras Makonnen greeted him with warmth but also with the searching eyes of a man who knew how quickly a boy could be hardened by responsibility.
"You are quieter than before, my son," Ras Makonnen said one evening as they walked in the garden, the scent of jasmine heavy in the air. "Was the road unkind to you?"
Tafari bowed his head. "The road teaches, father. And lessons are not always pleasant."
Makonnen studied him, but did not press. He only placed a hand on Tafari's shoulder. "Remember: the empire's strength is not in armies alone, but in the trust that binds men together. Guard that trust — and guard yourself."
The words rang deep. They were both counsel and warning.
From that day, Tafari began to watch the young men around him differently. Some were cousins, some sons of nobles, others merely attendants. He did not rebuke or lecture them; instead, he began setting small tests.
One morning, he asked a servant boy named Alemayehu to deliver a basket of fruit to a visiting priest. Tafari slipped a silver coin beneath one of the pomegranates. That evening, Alemayehu returned, the basket empty, the coin placed neatly on Tafari's desk.
"It was among the fruit, master," Alemayehu said, bowing. "Perhaps by accident."
"Indeed," Tafari replied, hiding his satisfaction. This one does not steal when tempted.
On another day, he entrusted another youth with a sealed letter — but this time, the seal was flawed, weak enough to invite curiosity. When the letter was returned, the wax bore fresh cracks. Tafari said nothing, but marked the boy in his mind: Curious, perhaps too curious for loyalty.
Among those tested was a boy his own age, Yonas, the son of a soldier who had served under Ras Makonnen at Adwa. Yonas was plain in appearance, with a quick smile and little to recommend him to noble circles. But Tafari noticed how Yonas spoke less and listened more, how he observed before he acted.
One afternoon, while riding beyond the city walls, Tafari and Yonas were caught in a sudden downpour. The others in the party cursed the mud, racing back toward shelter. But Yonas slowed his horse and rode beside Tafari, shielding him with his cloak.
"You could have left with the others," Tafari said.
"My place is beside you," Yonas answered simply.
That night Tafari called him privately. "Do you know why I test those around me?"
Yonas hesitated. "Because you cannot trust them all."
Tafari nodded slowly. "You see more than most. Stay close to me, Yonas. One day, I will need men who serve not for silver or status, but for something greater."
Yonas bowed, his eyes steady. "Then let me be the first of them."
A strange warmth filled Tafari's chest. For the first time since Gebru's treachery, he felt a flicker of reassurance.
That night, as Tafari lay awake, the soul of Dawit Mekonnen stirred within him. He remembered the countless betrayals of modern Ethiopia: generals who switched sides, ministers who sold secrets for power, men who shouted of freedom while spilling their country's blood.
He whispered to himself: A ruler must know loyalty not by birth or oath, but by deed.
And so, at fifteen, Tafari began to plant the first seeds of his private circle — men who would one day stand with him through storms of intrigue and foreign invasion. Yonas was the first. Others would follow. But the foundation was set: Tafari would rule not only by divine right or noble lineage, but by the loyalty he carefully tested, measured, and earned.
Weeks later, as Tafari watched the sun rise over Harar, painting the hills in gold, he felt the old historian within him stir again. He thought of nations he had read about in his past life — kingdoms that crumbled because leaders trusted the wrong men, republics that rotted from corruption.
He clenched his hands behind his back.
"Never again," he whispered. "Ethiopia will not be eaten from within."
And beside him, unnoticed by others, Yonas stood quietly, already embodying the first answer to that vow.