Preparations for Ascension: September 13, 1916
The cheers from the square shook the palace walls. "Saint of Adwa!" "Empress Zenebework!" As the low morning sun faintly tinged Addis Ababa square, I lowered my hand from the balcony railing and turned back into my chambers. The roar of the crowd lingered in my ears a beat too long.
Empress. I rolled the word around in my mind. It still didn't feel real. Honestly, with my past life's memories clinging to my senses, this sometimes felt like nothing more than a lavish costume party. The weight of the silk robes, the crown pressing down on my head, the maids' deferential, bowed gazes. But it was reality.
Ras Mikael had urged me onto the throne. Tafari had tacitly consented. And the nobles—for whatever reason—had accepted my ascension in place of Zewditu's.
In the original history, Zewditu would have been the one sitting here. Ethiopia's first empress, she was little more than a political puppet. Revered abroad like a saint of the Orthodox Church, but in this timeline, the entire dynamic had been upended.
How had I convinced Zewditu? Or rather, persuaded her to step aside? Either way, she seemed to have accepted the situation. I'd look into the details later. Right now, my mind was racing with calculations.
"Your Majesty."
Chief maid Ayenash approached cautiously. "Everything is prepared."
I nodded. There was no coronation ceremony today. Abuna Mateos had to preside over that, which would take a few more days. For now, Iyasu's deposition had been formalized, the new ruler proclaimed to the crowds—and that was enough.
The real challenges started now.
Iyasu deposed. Complete.
Empress elevated. Complete.
What next?
As I walked back into my chambers, I reordered the timeline in my head. September 13, 1916. Europe was deep in the throes of the First World War. The Battle of the Somme had raged for over a month, the Western Front locked in muddy trench stalemate. Britain and France were pouring every resource into the war. Italy had joined the Entente in 1915 and was even now dying in futile assaults along the Isonzo River against Austria-Hungary.
In short, Europe's imperial powers had no bandwidth to meddle in Ethiopia. This was my window.
When the war ended in 1918, they'd regain their leisure—and their eyes would sharpen on Ethiopia once more. The League of Nations would form; Britain and Italy would use us as bargaining chips in partition talks. We'd join in 1923, gaining a sliver of legitimacy. And then, nineteen years later, until Mussolini came knocking in 1935.
The list of tasks in that span made me draw a deep breath without realizing it. Railroad extensions. School foundations. Military modernization. Customs revenue secured. Diplomatic diversification. Domestic currency stabilization. Opium trade controls. Foundations for abolishing slavery. And above all... the nobles.
My thoughts stalled there. That was the structural rot at Ethiopia's core. No matter what reforms the emperor decreed, if the ras across the provinces didn't budge, they were worthless.
Ethiopia's emperor wasn't an absolute monarch but a figure perched atop a coalition of feudal lords. Even if I issued reform edicts, if Ras Mikael in Wollo, Ras Hailu in Gojjam, Ras Seyum in Tigray refused to implement them in their domains, those orders evaporated within Addis Ababa's walls.
History proved it. I knew how much Tafari—crowned Haile Selassie later—had struggled with this very issue.
Standing by the table, I traced my finger across the wooden map, marking each region. Wollo, Tigray, Gojjam, Harar, Sidamo, Kaffa, Webe. Ras with their private armies everywhere. Levying their own taxes, dispensing justice their way, ignoring or twisting imperial commands as it suited them.
How to handle them? Crush by force? Father alone commanded tens of thousands of troops. Conflict now would reignite civil war, and with the political instability from Iyasu's fall, it would hand Italy a perfect pretext.
Co-opt them? The standard playbook for Ethiopian emperors. Marry off daughters, grant lands, tax exemptions. But the result? A weakened emperor, and the nobles raised their heads.
Then it clicked, my eyes narrowing as the pieces locked into place. Not suppress or co-opt the feudal nobles—but fold them into the system.
The British House of Lords. Japan's House of Peers. Different systems, same principle. Draw the power-holders into institutions, channel their energies from resistance to governance.
An Ethiopian House of Ras. A council summoning the provincial lords to Addis Ababa for regular sessions to debate key state matters. The name didn't matter; the structure did.
First, they'd have to come to the capital periodically, leaving their domains vacant. That gave the imperial court direct access to administer those regions.
Second, giving them a stake in "participating" in governance undercut excuses for outright rebellion. After all, they'd helped decide.
Third, gathered in one place, their rivalries would play out on a central stage. I'd mediate from the middle.
Of course, flaws existed. At first, it might devolve into token debates. The ras would resent being summoned like vassals; Tafari might oppose it as diluting his authority.
But those could be persuaded away. I pulled out a sheet of paper and began jotting the reform outline in Amharic. I wanted to sketch it in Korean first, but summoning Tafari took priority.
After meeting Tafari and convincing him, I went to see Ras Mikael. Father was staying in the eastern guest quarters of the palace. His Wollo guards encircled the building, and as I entered, the armed soldiers bowed to me.
It had been barely a day, but he already looked weighed down by worries.
Inside the chamber, Father was alone. He stood by the window gazing toward Addis Ababa, turning as I entered. I tried to quietly read the emotion in his eyes.
Iyasu. Even now, this man was thinking of his son.
"Father."
"Sit."
I took the seat opposite him. A brief silence. The highland afternoon sun slanted through the window.
"Withdraw your forces."
No need for roundabout words. Ras Mikael's eyelids lowered, then rose.
"Iyasu."
"He won't be harmed. I got firm assurance from Tafari last night. You've heard."
"Whether that assurance holds."
"I'll make it hold."
He stared at me. For a long time. Even with my past-life memories, his gaze was hard to parse. The king of the north, commanding tens of thousands. In original history, the father who fought for Iyasu and fell at Sagale.
This man had lost his son. Politically. And pushed his daughter onto the throne in his place.
"...Withdraw the forces," he said. It sounded like he was telling himself.
"In exchange," I continued, "you must stay in Addis Ababa."
He looked up. I gave him half of what I'd explained to Tafari: the council idea, regular meetings, governance participation. I held back the other half about the ras.
Ras Mikael listened without a word. When I finished, he let out a single huff through his nose.
"That's the council, then."
"Something like it."
"Copying the Europeans."
"If a Western method suits Ethiopia, we use it. Make it ours."
He chuckled lowly—not quite a laugh, more an exhalation. "...Menelik said it: take Europe's guns and shoot Europe's armies. What's the problem?"
I didn't reply, but Father turned back to the window anyway.
"I'll withdraw the forces."
I exhaled. "Thank you, Father."
"But."
He looked at me again, his gaze heavier than before. "If Iyasu dies."
"He won't."
I cut him off. "I'll keep him alive."
Ras Mikael weighed those words for a long moment, then slowly nodded.
That was it.
As I left the guest quarters, I drew the highland afternoon air deep into my lungs. Cold, thin, sharp.
One step down. I crossed an item off my mental checklist.
With Ras Mikael's forces withdrawn, Iyasu would flee north. He'd be out of direct political play for a while. Civil war risk minimized, at least for now.
What remained: the coronation rite, forming the Ras Council, and... Europe.
Britain and France were at war now. Italy too. But neglect diplomacy, and post-war, Ethiopia would be sidelined at the negotiating table. The Paris Peace Conference after 1918. I had to secure our seat there.