The council chamber emptied slowly, like a battlefield after the clash of swords. Nobles departed in clusters, their robes dragging along polished stone, their voices hushed but urgent. Tafari could feel their eyes on him as he followed behind his father. Some gazes lingered with approval, others with suspicion — and a few with cold calculation.
He had spoken only a few words, yet the air around him now crackled with new weight.
Ras Makonnen walked beside him, silent as they made their way down the long hall. Only when they reached the quiet of the courtyard did his father finally speak.
"You did well," Makonnen said, his tone measured. "But understand this: today, you made admirers… and enemies."
Tafari bowed his head. "I felt it, Father. Some smiled too quickly. Others too coldly."
His father's lips curled in something between a smile and a warning. "Good. You are learning. Remember — the smile of a noble is a blade hidden in cloth."
That night, Tafari returned to the stables. Abebe and Tsehai were already waiting, and Bekele joined soon after. The torchlight flickered across their eager faces.
"They were speaking of you in the servants' quarters," Bekele said in a rush. "They called you the boy who shamed the council."
Abebe laughed sharply. "Shamed? He spoke more sense than ten of them combined!"
Tsehai shook her head. "That is why they will fear him. Men fear what they cannot control."
Tafari listened quietly, then raised his hand. "We must be careful. Words travel faster than horses. Some will try to use me. Others will try to break me. If we are to survive, our circle must not only watch but also act."
Abebe frowned. "Act how?"
Tafari leaned forward, his voice low. "Every noble house has servants. Every priest has a deacon. Every soldier has a boy who sharpens his spear. They all speak. If we listen — truly listen — we will know what moves before the nobles themselves do."
Bekele's eyes widened. "You mean… spies?"
"Not spies," Tafari corrected, his gaze sharp. "Observers. We will gather whispers, not to destroy, but to prepare. A king who waits to hear danger in the council has already lost. A king who hears it in the kitchens before the council meets will never be surprised."
The three fell silent, struck by the gravity in Tafari's words. For a boy of fifteen, it was a dangerous clarity.
Meanwhile, in another part of the palace, the noble Ras Hailu Tekle Haymanot sat with two allies. His voice dripped with bitterness as he recalled the council scene.
"Did you see them?" he hissed. "Nodding at his words as if he were some seasoned judge! A child, lecturing men twice his age. If Makonnen continues this, he will make the boy a rival none of us can touch."
One of his allies snorted. "He is still young. His time is far off."
"Fools," Hailu spat. "Youth is no shield. The people love a story — the wise child, the chosen one. Today, he planted himself in their imagination. Tomorrow, he will grow there like a tree we cannot cut down. We must be ready."
His words hung in the air like smoke, the first shadow of plots against Tafari's rise.
Back in the stable, Tafari clasped Abebe's arm. "From now on, we are no longer only boys who read and talk. We are guardians of Ethiopia's future. Our ears must be sharper than our blades, our patience deeper than wells. If we succeed, Ethiopia will stand untouchable. If we fail, history will repeat its cruelty."
The torch crackled. Their young faces glowed with determination. And in that moment, the circle stopped being children playing at loyalty. They became the first embers of something greater.
Tafari looked to the dark horizon and whispered, "They heard me once. Soon, they will hear me again. But this time, I will not stand alone."