The Masked King: A Trump Fantasy AU

~3~

A/N: Due to extremely unfortunate circumstances that we all know have arisen, this book will be continued. I am ashamed of what our country has become, but I will, unlike our President-elect, keep my promise to you and write this.

"Thank you," Madame Xolotta allowed a small smile to grace her mouth as she ran her pudgy hand over the surface of the completed dress. I had stayed up for most of the previous night perfecting it, and it was the single most complex thing I had ever created. I was extremely proud of how well it had turned out, and I couldn't wait to see the princess herself wearing it at the next ball. My cheeks grew warm with pride as I imagined telling all of my fellow seamstresses that I had been the one who had put together the princess's breathtaking attire.

"That will be all," Madame Xolotta interrupted my fantasy with a curt nod, pointing to the door.

There was something about the finality of this statement that unnerved me. It was as if her instructions were much more than a simple command to return to my quarters for the night.

"Y-Yes, but, am I not to receive orders for tomorrow? Surely at least a few have been placed," I said nervously, waiting with tension in my hands and eyes for her reply.

At this, Madame's lips tightened against her teeth, and she sighed. "No. You will not return tomorrow...or ever again."

This news hit me like a sledgehammer, instantly shattering the fragile balance of my life. I looked around the familiar workshop in which I had spent all of my young years, unable to process what Madame had just told me.

"Why?" I croaked, my hands falling to my sides. "Have I not served you faithfully for eight years, without once requesting a raise, or any other minor favor!? Have you not profited from selling my numerous dresses?"

"It's the depression, Anna," Madame Xolotta folded her hands, an expression of hurt deepening the wrinkles on the skin of her face. No one wants fancy dresses anymore, 'cept the royals. I'm near as poor as you are, now. I couldn't hope to pay you and twenty other girls like you. I'll only sink deeper and deeper into debt."

"Then, that means every textile workshop will be facing similar struggles! Where am I to work!? How am I to provide for my mother!? Can't you at least provide me with food and a bed? I'll do any work you need."

"Food...sadly, that, too, is in short supply around here. I'm afraid I cannot employ you in my home, either. There's only one place where you can go. Just one place in this entire country where they still want skilled seamstresses."

"Where?" I asked, my eyes lighting up with hope.

"Washadonnie," Madame sighed exquisitely, as though the capital of Amaerica was the land of her dreams.

I wouldn't have been surprised if it was.

"Washadonnie?" I shook my head in disbelief. "I can't go there! The King-"

"Exactly. The King has a wife and two daughters, all of whom require expensive dresses. You could easily make a living there. I was planning to relocate to the Washadonnie area sometime next month, myself."

"The King is wicked," I whispered fearfully. "I want nothing to do with him. He needs only the slightest provocation to take drastic measures".

"Do you want to feed yourself and your mother?"

"Yes," I sighed. I hated this, but it was what I needed.

"Good. I will refer you to the palace."

I took in a deep breath as I slung my small, leather satchel over my shoulder, taking one, last good look at the now empty shop around me.

Goodbye, Tennaessee.

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

Just seconds after Anna's receding footsteps faded into the distance, a tall, lanky man in a shredded, green shirt and brown pants scrambled out from under Madame Xolotta's table. He moved with an air of pride, and his comportment was far superior to his manner of dress.

"Is she headed to Washadonnie?" He asked.

"W-Who are you!?" Madame Xolotta gasped, jumping away from her table quickly in alarm. "And why are you so interested in the movements of my former employees?"

"Answer my question. Is Iridanna Morgan Wolflight going to Washadonnie-Dae City, Amaerica?

"She'll go to Washadonnie D.C if she wants to, and no table creeper is going to stop her! Now, kindly remove yourself from these premises before I call the police!"

"His Highness would not be pleased by such treatment of his representative," the man scowled.

"A representative of the King?" Xolotta rolled her eyes. "And I'm the Empress of Aesia."

"No, I was not sent by your monstrous King. I am, in fact, here on behalf of His Highness Prince Rudolf of Cannaedia, the Kindly Duke."

"What are you doing in Amaerica, Cannaedian?" Xolotta placed a hand on her hip, her businesslike mind preventing her from putting her full trust in the stranger.

"His Highness has interests here that he is not in any way obligated to explain. If you will answer my question, I will be on my merry way back home," said the man, just as insistent in his approach as Madame Xolotta.

"Fine, she's going to Washadonnie because I told her to. I can't afford to pay her anymore, and I felt sorry for the poor girl, so I referred her to the palace tailors."

"And when will she arrive?"

"Probably sometime next week."

"Ah, I see. His Highness will be very pleased. The Kingdom of Cannaedia warmly thanks you for your great service."

The man tipped his hat before nearly skipping out the door, leaving a bewildered Madame Xolotta standing alone in her workshop.