Single Mother of a Werewolf Baby

Chapter 263: The Kin

Chapter 263: The Kingdom First Tour-2

Belfast, Northern Ireland. Afternoon.

The Airbus H155 flew low over the Lough, offering a brief, panoramic view of a city whose history was written in

its dividing lines. Belfast sprawled beneath them... a patchwork of neighbourhoods where the flags and murals

told you everything you needed to know about which side of the road you were on. The sky had hardened into a

sheet of low grey cloud, and a fine, persistent drizzle streaked the cabin windows as they descended... a fitting

welcto the most delicate stop of the day.

At the helipad, their motorcade awaited. After a short drive, they arrived at the quiet, uneasy stillness of a

residential street bifurcated by the Peace Wall. It loomed before them... a brutal expanse of concrete and

corrugated metal, twenty feet high, scarred by decades of graffiti and topped with a cruel crown of wire mesh to

stop missiles being thrown over. The sectarian murals on either side gleamed wetly in the rain, their colours of

defiance and remembrance rendered slick and sombre. One depicted a masked paramilitary; another, a collage

of pain and endurance. The air was cold, heavy with the scent of damp brick and asphalt.

This was not a stage for roaring crowds or easy applause. It was a place for reflection... a site that demanded

acknowledgement rather than rhetoric. As the media cluster formed under umbrellas, it was Baroness Angela

Dodson who stepped forward... a deliberate choice by the campaign. Known across the Kingdom for her empathy

and composure, she moved to the front and, with a quiet defiance, stepped out from beneath the umbrella,

letting the fine drizzle settle on her dark wool coat... a small gesture of solidarity with those who lived in this

divided place.

She stood before the wall, microphones angled towards her, hands clasped loosely before her. The usual

campaign energy was gone, replaced by something more solemn, almost reverent.

"We are standing in the shadow of a failure," she began, her voice soft yet carrying effortlessly through the hush.

It was not a declaration, but a confession. "A failure of politics, of community, of imagination. This wall was built

because we, as a nation, could not find a way to live together. It stands as a monument to fear and division."

She paused, letting the words settle into the drizzle. "The ‘Kingdom First’ campaign is founded on the idea of

unity... on the belief that what we share is far greater than what divides us. But we cannot reach that unity by

pretending the cracks aren't there. We cannot plaster over them with slogans or a fresh coat of paint."

She gestured to the grim structure behind her. "We understand that our first duty is to the safety and unity of our

people... not a unity imposed from Whitehall, but one built from the ground up, in streets like this." Her voice

carried quietly but with conviction. "That is why our ‘Bridge to Tomorrow’ fund is not just about roads and

railways."

Leaning slightly into the microphones, she let her gaze sweep over the reporters and the small crowd of

supporters and onlookers who had gathered despite the drizzle. "It's about building bridges within communities...

in hearts and in minds. It's about funding community centres where Protestant and Catholic children can play

football together. It’s about backing cross-community businesses that create shared prosperity. It's about

ensuring that every young person in Northern Ireland... no matter what flag they recognise... knows they have a

proud, secure, and equal future within our Kingdom."

Her tone grew firmer, steady with quiet passion. "This wall will not cdown by decree. It will cdown

when the reasons for its existence... fear, inequality, sectarian division... are rendered obsolete. Our pledge is to

make that our mission. To put the people of Belfast, of Derry, of every community in Northern Ireland, first. To

make this corner of our Kingdom defined not by its past divisions, but by its future potential."

There was no roar of applause... only a few scattered claps, quickly swallowed by a thoughtful silence, broken

only by the soft patter of rain.

As they turned to leave for the waiting motorcade, a local journalist stepped forward, holding out a microphone.

"Baroness, politicians have been making promises here for generations. Why should people believe you're any

different?"

Anthony stepped forward before Angela could respond, placing himself beside her... a subtle show of unity. His

voice was calm, deliberate.

"Because ‘Kingdom First’ is not a promise," he said, "it's a principle of governance. It means every policy, every

investment, will be judged by a single measure: does it strengthen the bonds that hold this Kingdom together?

The integrity of our Union isn’t an afterthought... it’s the foundation upon which everything else must stand. My

government will serve the whole Kingdom, focused relentlessly on healing old wounds, creating opportunity, and

ensuring a shared prosperity that leaves no community... and no citizen... behind."

The leaders then walked slowly along a section of the wall, speaking quietly with local community

representatives, their postures attentive and solemn. The image was powerful... the senior figures of the

opposition humbled before a monument to division, pledging to mend what history had broken.

By the tthey boarded the helicopter, the drizzle had eased to a fine mist. The mood was subdued,

contemplative. The rising hum of the rotors felt like a return to the present day after the heavy, timeless gravity

of the wall.

Angela looked down as Belfast receded below, the Peace Wall now just a thin grey scar across the landscape.

"That was tough," she murmured.

Anthony nodded, his expression set, eyes distant. "Sorry to send you there," he said quietly. "You were the

perfect choice among us."

The flight back to London passed in weary silence. The adrenaline had drained away, leaving only fatigue. Ernest

Prentice, seated opposite, was already scrolling through reports of the day’s coverage... social media analytics,

engagement spikes, and local news reactions.

"The Belfast segment is playing well," he said without looking up. "Authentic. The Glasgow announcement is

leading the Sky News ticker."

Anthony leaned back, closing his eyes. It had been a brutal, punishing schedule... a whirl of speeches, camera

flashes, and relentless expectation. The performance of strength was exhausting, and he felt its toll. He had

avoided this life for years, wary of the way politics consumed his father... the constant vigilance, the loss of

peace, the corrosion of family. And yet here he was, living it in an even harsher form.

He exhaled, long and quiet. Behind his eyelids, an image rose... a young, beautiful girl smiling in a memory he

could not quite reach.

"My daughter... I'll see you soon." A rare smile formed on his lips.

ork

The nineteenth floor of Heimdall Tower had once been a single vast conference room spanning the entire level.

Now, it had been transformed. One half of the space had been rearranged into a temporary election office...

more than fifty desks laid out in neat ranks, manned by a mixed team drawn from the employees of Heimdall

and Clan Blanc. The other half was screened off by a makeshift partition wall of heavy cardboard panels, creating

a provisional meeting room centred around a large table surrounded by twenty chairs.

At the head of the table sat Juliette Blanc. Twelve young men and women were scattered along the sides, the low

hum of devices and soft rustle of papers filling the air.

"It’s already seven in the evening," Juliette said evenly. "What's the response from the media and the public?"

Max stood up from his seat. "Boss, our story led on BBC, ITV, Channel 4, GB News, Sky News, and several local

stations. But ITV and GB News barely covered it... just a brief mention of the campaign launch, no footage of the

speeches."

Juliette’s tone cooled a degree. "Lexi, what happened with those two? Didn't you send gifts to all the political

reporters?"

Lexi gave a small, rueful smile. "I did, exactly according to the list. After the evening broadcasts, | followed up

with both reporters. They'd filed full reports... but the channel executives cut their airtime. Apparently, they were

told to do so by the owners."

Juliette turned slightly towards her left. "Cassandra, | think you'd better speak with Miss Li about this. Either we

buy those channels outright, or we find another... method of persuasion to bring the owners on side."

Cassandra, appointed by Teresa as

the liaison between the election team

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and Eleanor’s core team, naddedn

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Cassandra's role was to manage

external support... funding, influence,

and anything that required pressure

from beyond the political sphere. The

content is on novelenglish.net! Read

the latest chapter there!

"Understood," she said, tapping a note into her phone.

Juliette shifted her focus. "What about the social media response?"

A young woman with brightly

coloured hair straightened in her

chair, fingers dancing over a tablet.

" 0 2 n

Organic reach is | gJheotip'ct

AY) Gapman’s speech is trending

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on Twitter. The ‘Kingdom First

hashtag has been used more than

fifty thousand times in the last six

hours... mostly positive. Our TikTok

edits of the helicopter arrivals are

performing especially well with the

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under-thirty demographic.” The

content is on novelenglish.net! Read

the latest chapter there!

A young man on the opposite side added, "Sentiment analysis looks strong overall, but there's a coordinated

counter-narrative starting to circulate. They're painting the Baron as an out-of-touch aristocrat, despite the

populist messaging."

Juliette’s expression didn’t change. "And our counter?"

Leo spoke up. "We're flooding the feeds with the opposite... pushing user-generated content from the rallies,

showing diverse crowds, small business owners, families. It’s cutting through."

"Good," Juliette said with a small nod.

Another staffer, a sharply dressed man named Ben, leaned forward. "The manifesto’s being physically delivered

to key constituency offices right now. The digital version had over a million downloads. The most read sections

are on manufacturing sector and NHS funding."

Cassandra, still focused on her phone, finally spoke. "Our intelligence suggests the Chancellor's planning a dawn

interview outside the Treasury... he'll try to frour spending plans as reckless. They're already calling it

‘Magic Money’."

A faint, knowing smile touched

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Juliette’s lips. "Then we'll pre-empt

him. Lexi, get John Constantine on

the phone. | want him booked ohn

Today at seven dorérfoly fnorning.

J O : : ,

He $0 Db the term ‘Magic Money

before they do... and then twist it. Tell

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him to say, ‘The only magic being

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performed is the government's

disappearing act with our national

industrial base. Our plans are fully

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costed, funded by the Kingdom's

growing economy, not by raising

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taxes on working people.” The

content is on novelenglish.net! Read

the latest chapter there!

"On it," Lexi said, already typing furiously on her laptop.gdom First Tour-2