The Masked King: A Trump Fantasy AU

~Prologue~

A/N: Welcome back, Dumpers, to what's probably going to be my best Trump book yet! However, keep in mind the fact that, as I stated in A Small Loan of a Million Dollars, this book will be discontinued if Trump does not win the election (because what would be the point, right?). Anyway, I won't keep you waiting any longer. I present to you...The Masked King!

...........................

It was a cool, humid night, filled with the kind of heavy, stale air that sets onto your skin and seeps through your bones into the very core of your being. However, the moist environment did not bother the young man who walked with confident purpose up the stairs to the High Tower of Washadonnie Castle. In fact, he drew his silk cloak even tighter about his frame in defiance of the weather. 

Such was his nature. 

Before long, his speedy journey up the enclosed, spiraling stone steps was faced with its first impediment: a wooden door fitted with an iron lattice. This gateway was guarded by two soldiers of Amaerica, sporting thinning capes, battered breastplates, and faces harder than ice. 

"I demand passage," ordered the young man with an air of superiority, placing a gloved hand arrogantly upon the jeweled hilt of his sheathed sword. 

"No living soul but the King is to be granted passage into the Queen's residence during these nocturnal hours," one of the guards replied, his voice as unfeeling as a still lake that would never dream of allowing a ripple to disturb its surface.

"Do you not recognize my face?" The man threw his head back, allowing his features to be bathed in the soft moonlight that streamed from a nearby latticed window. 

"Your holy visage is unmistakable, My Lord," the guard solemnly bowed his head, torn between his fear of the man before him and his devotion to his King. 

"Then, let me pass, you imbecile, or tomorrow, your head shall hang from the city walls for all of Washadonnie to see!"

"I am upholding a personal order from the King." 

"The King," the young man growled, clearly disgusted by the bearer of the honored title. "You leave me no choice..." He let out a low growl, yanking his long sword upward with a swift motion of his wrist and sinking it into the soldier's chest. The second soldier responded with a loud yelp, but was quickly silenced by the man's palm and thrown unceremoniously out of the window. 

Sighing with satisfaction at the guard's pitiful screams, the young man proceeded to draw a silver key from within his robes and insert it into the door. It opened with little hesitation, allowing his eyes to fall upon the luxurious chamber behind it. 

Various extravagant couches filled every corner of the space, and handwoven rugs decorated the dark, wooden floor. Reclining on the tall, canopied bed, her long, dainty fingers paging through a book, was the pride of the Kingdom of Amaerica herself. 

Queen Rhodalina Amaerica.

"Prince Donald." 

She said his name simply, her kind voice devoid of its usual warmth. It disappointed him.

"My Queen." 

Donald Trump grinned giddily as he approached her, losing more of his heart and mind in the depths of her perfectly crafted face with each step he took. 

He couldn't help but resent the luck of his older brother- the one who had this exquisitely gorgeous woman all to himself. 

But, it would not be so for long. 

"Fayan told me about you this evening, Donald," Rhodalina said dryly, carefully setting down her book. "If I am not mistaken, you were trying to destroy our relations with our southern neighbors." 

"Don't listen to that leech!" Donald snapped, his eyes flaring dangerously. "We don't need the Maexicans! We don't need anyone...but us." 

"What are you saying?" 

"Give me your love, Rhoda," the prince laughed wildly. 

"It is too late." Rhodalina smiled victoriously, her hands falling to her ever-so-slightly swollen belly.

"I am pregnant...with the next King of Amaerica. So long as this child lives, the throne will never be yours!"

"No!" The shocked Donald was seized by an unprecedented burst of rage. Unsheathing his dagger, he lunged at the unsuspecting Queen and pinned her to her bed, positioning the knife above her stomach. 

She breathed heavily, grasping at her bedclothes and the sleeves of the prince's robes in her futile attempts to squirm out of Donald's grasp. 

"Fayan!" The Queen screamed as Donald stabbed her mattress, releasing a burst of down. 

"Fayan is dead," Donald smirked, his smile growing wider at the sight of Rhodalina's expression of horror. "And soon, his legacy will be dead, too," he gestured to the shape of the Queen's unborn child with the end of his knife. 

As the prince boasted, he made the fatal mistake of forgetting to keep his eye on Rhodalina's hands. She reached into the hollow in one of her bedposts, her fingers finally closing around what she needed the most. 

"May you be cursed!" Rhodalina shouted, bringing her hand around her head and pointing the glowing ruby at Donald's dumbfounded face. 

"May your form be so hideous, that you would not allow it to be seen!" 

Donald gasped in horror as the glow of his young skin faded to a powdery orange hue. Swollen pustules the size of blueberries appeared all over his wrinkled body as he was thrown away from the Queen by the force of her magic. 

He squinted, looking up at the ceiling, where swirling strands of golden light merged into the shape of the most kingly iron helmet he had ever laid his eyes on. Before he could admire the creation, it flew forward, implanting itself on his head. He screamed as the molten metal seared his face, further disfiguring it. 

"May you lose your adept mental faculties," the Queen concluded. 

"May you rule in shame and infamy...Masked King."