Single Mother of a Werewolf Baby

Chapter 262: The Kin

Chapter 262: The Kingdom First Tour-1

The dawn mist still clung to the grass of London Heliport as the Airbus H155 helicopter waited like a steed for its

riders. Baroness Angela Dodson of Kesteven stepped out of her car, flanked by her newly appointed secretary

and bodyguard, who guided her towards the waiting aircraft.

From a distance, it looked like a dark, elegant bruise upon the grey tarmac... its colour a deep navy so rich it

appeared almost black beneath the overcast light, broken only by a sharp silver stripe running the length of its

fuselage. As she approached, the scale of the machine asserted itself: the bulbous, glazed nose housing the

pilots; the sturdy undercarriage; and the daunting sweep of the five main rotor blades, drooping slightly at rest

like the petals of sheavy, metallic flower.

The sound was the first true assault on the senses. Even at idle, the engines produced a deep, guttural thrum

that vibrated up through the soles of one’s shoes and into the bones... a constant, visceral reminder of the

restrained power within. The air was tinged with the acrid scent of fuel exhaust and hot metal. A member of the

ground crew, clad in a high-visibility jacket, signalled for them to approach from the forward-left quadrant, their

gestures precise and well-rehearsed.

The cabin door slid open, revealing an interior that felt a world apart from the industrial clamour outside... a

capsule of quiet luxury. The dominant tone was a soft, muted grey leather covering six deeply cushioned seats

arranged in two facing rows. A thick, dark navy carpet underfoot absorbed the light, while the bulkheads

gleamed with polished burl wood veneer, lending warmth and understated opulence. Everything was bathed in a

cool, ambient glow from recessed LEDs. The air inside was still, temperature-controlled, and faintly perfumed

with the scent of leather polish and filtered purity.

Already seated within were Baron Anthony Hayward Chapman of Bethnal Green, Leader of the Opposition; Baron

Ernest Prentice of Hampton, Chairman of the National Convention; and Baron John Constantine of Notting Hill,

Chairman of the Opposition Party Board... each accompanied by their respective secretaries.

Baroness Angela Dodson settled into one of the leather seats and was immediately enveloped in a profound

hush, the outside world reduced to a distant, contained hum. Through the wide, tinted windows, London

appeared detached and manageable... a panorama framed and ready to be traversed.

"Welcome, Lady Dodson."

"Good morning, Lady Dodson."

"Angela, you're late."

The three voices overlapped in a half-chiding, half-familiar chorus. Baroness Dodson smiled faintly and replied,

"Now that we're all here, we should get moving. We've a great many stops ahead, and being late on the first day

of the campaign won't look good on us."

Baron John Constantine inclined his head. "All right then. Let's go."

He turned to his secretary. "Robin, tell the pilots we're ready for departure. They've been briefed on our routes, |

assume?"

Robin nodded. "Everything's in order, sir. They were fully prepared in advance. Miller Aviation will be handling all

your transport for the duration of the election period... the agreement’s been signed, and the payment cleared."

He pulled out his mobile phone and sent a quick message to the cockpit. Then, raising his voice so everyone

could hear, he added, "Weather is clear across the Midlands... just a bit of rain expected over Glasgow, but we'll

be in and out. Our first stop is Walsall. More than five hundred supporters are expected; it’s the official start of

the campaign. The media’s been notified, and the party’s website and social channels will be streaming the

speech live."

He paused, then continued, "After that, we'll head to Glasgow for the shipyard announcement. Then on to

Belfast... the Bridge to Tomorrow site. We should be back in London before the evening news cycle."

John glanced up from his mobile screen. "Anthony, is your speech ready?"

"Yes," Anthony replied. "I've covered everything you suggested... economic reform, corruption, the high street,

NHS waiting times, childminders, and elderly benefits."

Angela nodded. "That's a solid approach. The people in Walsall aren't thinking about budget lines; they're

thinking about their high street, their NHS queues, their children’s future. They don’t care for slogans or media

theatre. If we can make them feel that ‘Kingdom First’ truly means something to us, they'll connect to it."

Anthony turned to her, a faint smile touching his lips. "And it’s our job to make sure they each hear their own

version of it in our words. Right, Baroness? ‘Kingdom First." He spoke the phrase not as a rallying cry, but as a

quiet oath.

The helicopter lifted with a powerful surge, banking northward and leaving the capital behind. The thrum of the

rotors grew into a steady, resonant roar that filled the cabin... a sound that matched the pulse of the day and the

weight of what lay ahead.

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Walsall, West Midlands. Walsall Arena.

The arena was packed with more than five hundred people. Swere loyal party supporters; others had come

simply to hear what new promises the leaders might make. A few were there out of curiosity... to watch the

spectacle unfold. Among the crowd were cheerful supporters waving placards and wearing "Kingdom First!" T-

shirts, small business owners who had watched their high streets decay, skilled machinists anxious about the

next round of layoffs, and young parents fearful that their children would have to leave town to find a future.

At exactly ten o'clock, the gate behind the stage opened, and Baron Anthony Hayward Chapman strode out

towards the podium. The roar of the crowd swelled, a sea of voices and banners rising to greet him. Behind him

followed Baron John Constantine, Baroness Angela Dodson, and Baron Ernest Prentice, each walking with

practised composure. Their secretaries waited discreetly by the stairs.

Anthony reached the lectern and took a moment to survey the hall.

"Friends!" he began, his voice rich and commanding. "For too long, this town... and towns like it across our

kingdom... have been an afterthought to a distant government in Westminster! They took your votes for granted

and gave you managed decline in return. Well, no more!"

The crowd erupted. He pressed on, speaking of reshoring industries, of British jobs for British workers, of

investment in skills, infrastructure, and dignity.

"When we say ‘Kingdom First’, we mean putting the Kingdom's interests first... the people’s interests first.

Walsall will say, Walsall First. Your industries will serve your communities. Your government offices will place your

needs before bureaucracy. And when every community thrives, the kingdom itself will prosper. A government

under my leadership will never... ever... forget that!"

The applause thundered through the arena. All four leaders stood, waving to the cheering crowd before

descending from the stage amid a storm of noise and camera flashes.

Outside, as they made their way towards the waiting helicopter, a knot of journalists pressed forward,

microphones outstretched.

"Baron Chapman," one called, "your opponents claim that ‘Kingdom First’ is nothing more than a cover for

isolationism and xenophobia. How do you respond?"

Anthony paused, turning smoothly towards the cameras, his expression composed but resolute.

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That," he said, "is a desperate and

cynical misreading of our vision.

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Kingdom First’ is about confidence...

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not fear. It's Ase) beligying that the

Pgople bt this country are its greatest

strength. It means prioritising our

NHS, our borders, and our economy.

It is the very opposite of isolationism.

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It's about engaging with the world on

our own terms... strong, capable, and

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self-assured." The content is on

novelenglish.net! Read the latest

chapter there!

He offered a brief nod. "Now, if you'll excuse me... we are taking that message to Glasgow."

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Glasgow, Scotland.

The setting shifted tically. They now stood on the gantry of a vast, partly dormant shipyard on the Clyde,

the cold wind whipping off the river and carrying with it the scent of oil and iron. Here, the message was one of

union... both the unity of the Kingdom and the bond between business and labour.

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The might of the Clyde built the

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British Empire!" declared Baron John

Constantine of Notting Hill, his voice

rising against the wroae 138!

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dtp Rob al. "And it will

build a renewed British future! Our

government will not let this skillset

wither. We will commission a new

generation of support ships for the

Royal Navy... right here... securing

thousands of jobs for decades to

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come!" The content is on

novelenglish.net! Read the latest

chapter there!

The crowd of workers and reporters stirred, their applause mingling with the rattle of chains and the hum of

heavy machinery. The statement was unmistakable... a direct challenge to the Scottish Nationalists, and a

promise of direct investment from London.

Anthony, standing beside him, allowed himself a faint, knowing smile. This was Kingdom First in action... not a

slogan, but a strategy of deliberate, national renewal.

A journalist from The Herald seized his chance, stepping forward and calling out over the wind. "Lord Chapman,

isn’t this just another pre-election promise? You're pledging billions here, billions in Walsall. How do you reconcile

that with fiscal responsibility?"

It was John who leaned into the microphone, his tone measured and dry... a perfect counterpoint to Anthony's

fervour.

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Fiscal responsibility isn't about

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refusing to spend," he said. "It's about

spending wisely... on a sets thatn

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investment in our security, in our

industry, and in our people. It is, in

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