The announcement of King Charles III's abdication shook the nation. The official statement from Buckingham Palace spoke of "declining health" and a "desire to ensure a seamless transition to the next generation." Only a handful of people in the inner circle knew the truth. I attended the solemn farewell ceremony, my face a perfect mask of grief and respect. I shook the hand of the departing King, a man whose soul I had broken, and promised him I would "serve your son with the same loyalty." It was a beautiful lie.
The coronation of King William V was swift, a scaled-down affair but one heavy with potent symbolism. I stood in Westminster Abbey, not just as a Prime Minister, but as a kingmaker. As the Archbishop of Canterbury placed St. Edward's Crown upon the new King's head, William glanced in my direction. In his eyes, I saw not animosity, but a cool understanding. He knew where the real power resided. He would be a popular king, a handsome symbol of unity, and he would never get in my way. The monarchy had been tamed.
With the final obstacle removed, I accelerated my transformation. The National Unionist Party was no longer just a political party; it was becoming synonymous with the state itself. Membership became a de facto requirement for advancement in the civil service, the military, and even the corporate sector. The Young Lions League became a mandatory organization in schools, teaching a new curriculum that emphasized "Pride, Discipline, and Duty."
My "Exemplary Citizen Program" was rolled out with great fanfare. Initially, it seemed benign. Citizens could voluntarily download an app that tracked their "civic contributions"—volunteering, donating to government-approved charities, even reporting "anti-social behavior." In return, they earned points that could be redeemed for perks: fast-track lanes at airports, small tax rebates, lottery tickets for better housing.
The British people, charmed by the gamification and driven by the desire to get ahead, signed up in droves. They didn't realize they were voluntarily building their own cage.
…
On the international stage, my alliance with President Trump solidified. I flew to Washington for my first official meeting with him as President. We stood side-by-side in the Rose Garden, the two leaders of a new, global populist-nationalist movement.
"Britain and America," Trump declared at our joint press conference, "are reunited, stronger than ever before. We are two nations built on the same principles: strong borders, strong economies, and no apologies for who we are."
Behind the scenes, we hammered out a New Atlantic Charter. It was a sweeping free-trade agreement that effectively took Britain out of its remaining European entanglements and tied its economy firmly to America's. But it was more than that. It also included a secret defense clause, a "Special Alliance" where our two nations agreed to share the highest level of intelligence and coordinate military operations against "threats to Western civilization"—a deliberately vague term that could mean anything from Islamist terrorists to Chinese economic influence.
I had positioned Britain as America's chief lieutenant in Europe, but on my own terms. In return, Trump agreed to "look the other way" as Britain reasserted its influence in Africa. He didn't care about Africa; he just wanted a reliable partner to confront China.
…
My next trip was to Moscow. This time, the meeting with the Russian President wasn't about tacit understandings, but concrete planning.
We met in the Kremlin, in a dark, wood-paneled room that felt heavy with centuries of conspiracy. A map of Africa was spread between us.
"Mr. President," I said, "as we discussed, Britain is ready to bring order back to certain parts of Africa. We have the expertise in counter-insurgency and military training. We can stabilize governments friendly to our interests."
"And our interests are resources and warm-water ports," he replied bluntly.
"Of course." I pointed to several countries in West Africa and the Horn of Africa. "These regions are rich in uranium, cobalt, and rare-earth minerals. They are also unstable, rife with rebels and extremists. Your Wagner Group has tried to operate there, but they are a blunt instrument. They create resentment."
"What are you proposing?"
"A division of labor. British Special Forces and military advisors will go in, under the guise of 'training local forces to fight terrorism.' We will remove troublesome leaders and install our men. We will stabilize the countries. Once they are stable, Russian mining corporations and British logistics firms will move in and share the profits. China gets the infrastructure; we get the raw materials."
It was a proposal of shameless, 21st-century colonialism. A pact between two wolves to divide the flock.
He smiled, a rare, cold thing. "You think like a Tsar, Mr. Prime Minister. I like that. It's a deal."
…
I returned to London, feeling on top of the world. I had conquered the domestic front. I had rebuilt global alliances in my image. I was in the process of restoring an empire.
But absolute power has absolute dangers. The higher you climb, the further you have to fall.
The problem came from the place I least expected it: Simon Blackwood.
He came to my office late one night, unannounced. His face, normally an emotionless mask, was tense.
"Prime Minister," he said, "we have a problem."
"There are always problems, Simon," I replied casually, pouring myself a whisky.
"Not like this," he said. "MI5… their loyalty to you has emboldened them. They've been digging deeper into the Green Park bombing."
I paused, the glass in my hand. "And?"
"A small team of analysts, working off the official channels, has found anomalies. Inconsistencies in the digital trail of the 'terrorists.' A whisper about an informant who may have been a double agent. They don't have hard proof yet, but they're getting close. They suspect state involvement."
I felt a chill run down my spine. I had created a guard dog so loyal that it was now beginning to bite its own master if it smelled rot.
"Who's leading this team?" I asked, my voice calm.
"A woman. Valerie Thorne. Brilliant analyst, stubborn as a bull. She won't let it go."
I looked at Blackwood. For months, he had been my dagger, my sharpest tool. He had helped me dismantle a democracy, plot a murder, and subdue a nation. But as I looked into his eyes now, I saw something new. Hesitation. Perhaps even fear.
He had helped me create the monster. Now, he was wondering if it would turn around and devour him, too.
"This needs to be dealt with, Simon," I said softly. "This team… and this Miss Thorne… they are a threat to everything we have built. To national security."
"What are you suggesting, Prime Minister?" he asked, his voice barely audible.
I held his gaze, letting the unspoken meaning hang in the air between us. I would not give him a direct order. I didn't need to anymore. He knew what had to be done. This was the final test of his loyalty. Was he still my dagger, or had he grown a conscience?
"I'm sure you'll find the most… efficient solution, Simon," I said finally. I turned and looked out the window, dismissing him.
As I heard the door close softly behind me, I knew that I had reached a point of no return. I had unleashed something I could no longer fully control. I had sown the wind, and now a storm was beginning to gather, not from without, but from the very heart of my own regime.
And I wondered, for the first time, which dagger would fall first.