The Kingdom
The Coronation
In the grand hall of what was once the UN General Assembly, now redecorated with gold-plated columns and crimson velvet drapery, Donald Trump stood before a hastily assembled crowd of diplomats, journalists, and loyal supporters. The date was July 4, 2026, exactly eighteen months after his second inauguration as President of the United States.
“Nobody’s ever seen anything like this before, believe me,” Trump announced, his voice echoing through the cavernous space. “This is going to be the greatest union in the history of unions, maybe ever.”
Behind him hung an enormous new flag—stars and stripes merged with elements of the Canadian maple leaf, the Mexican eagle, and a small white bear representing Greenland. The designers had worked through three sleepless nights to complete it to his specifications.
Prime Minister Mackenzie of Canada and President Ortiz of Mexico sat stiffly in the front row, their faces carefully composed. The representative from Greenland had sent regrets, citing “infrastructure issues” preventing travel. This minor setback hadn’t deterred Trump from proceeding with the ceremony.
“The United States was great again, but now—now we’re making the Americas tremendous,” Trump continued, gesturing expansively. “America, Canada, Mexico, and Greenland—beautiful Greenland, so much ice, so white—all united under the greatest leadership the world has ever seen.”
An aide approached with a crown resting on a velvet cushion—a gaudy creation of gold-plated metal studded with what Trump had insisted were “the biggest diamonds, really fantastic diamonds.” As flashbulbs popped throughout the hall, he lifted the crown himself.
“By the power vested in me by me,” Trump declared, placing the crown atop his signature coiffure, “I hereby proclaim myself King Donald I of the United Royal Kingdoms of the Americas and Greenland—or TURKAG for short. We have the best acronyms.”
In the Canadian Parliament, emergency sessions erupted into chaos. Mexico’s Congress issued immediate denunciations. Greenland’s autonomous government released a terse statement that simply read: “No.”
Within the halls of Capitol Hill, constitutional scholars were already drafting lengthy opinions. The Supreme Court justices were being recalled from summer vacations. And in media outlets across the four territories, headlines screamed variations of the same question: Was this legal? Was this real?
As the ceremony concluded, Trump waved magnanimously to the crowd. “The deals we’re going to make,” he promised, “will be royal deals now. Royal deals from your king. It’s going to be huge.”
Outside, protesters and supporters clashed on the streets of New York. Inside, a solitary secret service agent leaned toward another and whispered, “How long do you think this one will last?”
The other agent shrugged. “Three days, tops. Unless Greenland suddenly decides it wants in.”
“Unlikely,” came the reply as Trump continued his speech, oblivious to the diplomatic maelstrom already brewing.
“Welcome,” concluded the self-proclaimed king, “to the greatest kingdom of all time. And that’s not just me saying it—that’s a royal decree.“
The Rise of the Kingdom
Three days after Trump’s self-coronation, Pentagon officials filed into the Oval Office—now referred to as the Royal Chamber. General Maxwell, Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, stood at attention before the ornate desk where Trump sat wearing his crown slightly tilted to one side.
“Your Majesty,” General Maxwell began, the words still awkward on his tongue, “we’ve discussed your… proclamation extensively.”
Trump leaned forward. “And?”
“The Joint Chiefs believe that a unified North American continent under singular leadership presents unprecedented strategic advantages against foreign powers, particularly China and Russia.”
What the general didn’t mention was the late-night emergency meetings, the constitutional lawyers, and the pragmatic calculation that had led to this moment: better to shape this new reality from within than resist and be replaced.
“Smart people, my generals. The best,” Trump nodded approvingly. “The military supports King Donald I, as they should.”
“We’ve drafted operational plans for continental security integration,” Maxwell continued, sliding forward a folder embossed with a hastily created TURKAG seal. “And we’ve begun diplomatic outreach to our counterparts in Canada and Mexico.”
In Ottawa, Prime Minister Mackenzie paced her office as military advisors delivered sobering news.
“The Americans have moved three carrier groups to positions that effectively blockade our Atlantic and Pacific ports,” Defense Minister Harper explained. “And their Northern Command has activated all units along our border.”
“It’s not an explicit threat,” added Foreign Affairs Minister Chen, “but the message is clear.”
Mackenzie slumped into her chair. “And what about our own military’s position?”
General Williams cleared his throat. “Prime Minister, our assessment indicates we cannot meaningfully resist if they decide to… enforce this union. Moreover, several of our senior commanders have expressed that continental integration might strengthen our collective security posture.”
“So we capitulate to this madness?” she asked incredulously.
“We negotiate favorable terms of entry,” Williams corrected. “The Americans are offering seats on the ‘Royal Council’ and significant autonomy in domestic affairs.”
Three days later, Mackenzie stood before Parliament, her voice steady despite the circumstances. “While unorthodox and certainly unexpected, the proposed Continental Kingdom presents economic and security advantages that cannot be dismissed in today’s unstable global environment. Canada will join—conditionally—and shape this new alliance from within.”
In Mexico City, President Ortiz faced a different calculation.
“Your Excellency,” his economic advisor urged, “the Americans are offering complete visa-free movement across borders for all Mexican citizens, elimination of trade barriers, and massive infrastructure investment.”
Defense Minister Vega added bluntly, “And their Southern Command has conducted ’exercises’ just off our coast for the past 48 hours.”
Ortiz stared at the proposal before him. “And what of Mexican sovereignty?”
“They’re calling it ‘federated autonomy within the kingdom framework,’” his chief of staff explained. “Essentially, we maintain domestic governance while ceding foreign policy and military command.”
Ortiz thought of the cartels, the economic struggles, the decades of complicated relations with their northern neighbor. “Perhaps,” he said slowly, “there are worse fates than being the third jewel in King Donald’s crown.”
One week after the coronation, Trump stood on a specially constructed platform at the newly renamed Royal Border Crossing in Laredo, Texas. Behind him stood Mackenzie and Ortiz, both wearing small ceremonial crowns that were noticeably less ornate than Trump’s.
“The Royal United Kingdoms are now officially formed,” Trump declared as soldiers from all three nations raised the new TURKAG flag. “The best kingdom, bringing together the greatest countries. Nobody unifies continents like I do, believe me.”
Mackenzie and Ortiz exchanged glances as they joined in the obligatory applause, each harboring private thoughts about how to maximize their nations’ advantages within this bizarre new arrangement.
“And Greenland?” a brave journalist called out.
Trump’s smile didn’t waver. “They’re being difficult, very difficult people. But they’ll come around. Nobody stays out of my kingdom for long. We’re sending a delegation—a royal delegation—next week. They’ll see the benefits. Tremendous benefits.”
As military jets from three now-united air forces streaked overhead in formation, civilians on all sides of the former borders watched with a mixture of confusion, fear, and morbid curiosity about what this “kingdom” would bring.
In a secure bunker beneath the Pentagon, military strategists were already drawing up plans for how this consolidated force would reshape global power dynamics—and how to manage their unpredictable new monarch.
Shadows of the Kingdom
Six weeks into the reign of King Donald I, the initial shock had given way to a new reality. While official media outlets across the Kingdom broadcast images of prosperity and unity, undercurrents of resistance formed in the shadows.
In Boston, Professor Eleanor Ramírez led a group of two thousand protesters through the streets, their voices rising in unified chants: “No kings in America! Democracy not monarchy!”
They had nearly reached Government Center when the Royal Peacekeeping Force—a newly formed division drawn from all three former nations’ police agencies—moved in with tactical precision. Officers in black uniforms with the gold TURKAG insignia on their shoulders deployed sonic deterrents and crowd containment measures.
“By decree of King Donald I, this assembly is unlawful,” boomed an amplified voice. “Disperse immediately or face detention under the Continental Harmony Act.”
Professor Ramírez raised her megaphone. “We have constitutional rights to—”
She never finished the sentence. Three officers tackled her to the ground while others methodically cordoned and processed the crowd. Those who resisted were loaded into unmarked vans. Those who dispersed had their faces captured by hovering drones.
In suburban Toronto, Daniel Chen sat at his kitchen table scrolling through news on his tablet when a notification pinged: “Citizen Alert: Report disloyal speech through the Kingdom Unity App.”
He was about to dismiss it when pounding at his front door made him jump. Through the peephole, he saw his neighbor Mrs. Winters with two Royal Peacekeepers behind her.
“Daniel Chen?” one officer asked when he opened the door. “We’ve received a loyalty concern report regarding statements made during your barbecue last Saturday.”
Mrs. Winters avoided his gaze as the officer continued. “According to Citizen Winters, you expressed that, quote, ‘This kingdom business is completely unconstitutional, and Trump has finally lost what was left of his mind,’ end quote.”
“I was just joking around,” Daniel stammered.
“Disloyalty isn’t a joking matter under Section 7 of the Continental Harmony Act,” the officer replied, producing restraints. “You’re required to attend a three-day loyalty reorientation session.”
As they led him away, Daniel saw other neighbors watching from behind curtains, their faces unreadable.
In a converted warehouse outside Mexico City, now designated as TURKAG Surveillance Center South, Ana Díaz sat before a bank of monitors, her security clearance badge identifying her as a “Royal Intelligence Analyst.”
“System flags another cluster in Sector 17,” her supervisor noted, pointing to a heat map showing conversation patterns. “The GUARDIAN AI is detecting anti-monarchy sentiment consistent with organized resistance.”
Ana nodded, directing the system to refine its analysis. On her screen, GUARDIAN AI—the Global Unified Automated Royal Domain Intelligence Analysis Network—processed petabytes of data collected from digital devices, public cameras, and a vast network of microphones deployed across the Kingdom.
“GUARDIAN has identified seven high-probability resistance organizers,” she reported, watching as the system compiled comprehensive profiles on each individual. “Forwarding to Peacekeepers now.”
Ana felt a twinge of conscience as faces appeared on her screen—ordinary people whose private conversations had been flagged by algorithms that deemed them threats to “continental harmony.” But she pushed the feeling aside. Her family needed the special rations and housing priority that came with her position.
In Vancouver, journalist Michael Trudeau typed furiously in his basement, using a modified computer disconnected from any network. The Underground Chronicle’s latest edition was almost ready—one of the few remaining independent news sources in the Kingdom.
“Royal surveillance now extends to smart appliances,” he wrote. “Sources confirm that GUARDIAN AI monitors conversations near any connected device. Resistance cells are advised to use Faraday-shielded meeting locations and analog communication only.”
He paused, listening to footsteps above. His wife would warn him if anyone approached the house. They had systems, precautions. Still, every day brought news of another journalist disappeared, another resistance cell dismantled, seemingly before they had even formed.
The hardest part wasn’t the fear of arrest. It was watching former colleagues on Kingdom News Network enthusiastically reporting on “terrorists” captured by “heroic Peacekeepers,” knowing those “terrorists” were professors, lawyers, and activists who had simply spoken out.
In the Royal Chamber, Trump reviewed the daily security briefing with satisfaction.
“GUARDIAN’s working beautifully, just beautiful technology,” he declared. “Nobody monitors citizens like we do. We have the best surveillance, don’t we?”
The intelligence director nodded. “GUARDIAN has increased identification of disloyalty by 340% this month alone. The predictive models now stop most resistance activities before they materialize.”
“And the loyalty centers? How’s the reorientation going?”
“Extremely effective, Your Majesty. Ninety-seven percent of citizens emerge with significantly improved loyalty scores.”
Trump smiled, adjusting his crown. “That’s how you run a kingdom. Everybody loving their king. Those who don’t, well, they learn to love me. They all learn eventually.”
Outside the White House—now called the Royal Palace of the Americas—tourists took selfies with the royal guards while carefully avoiding any comments that might trigger the ever-listening ears of GUARDIAN. In homes across the continent, families disabled their smart speakers during private conversations, never entirely sure if it was enough.
And in hidden places—basements, forest clearings, abandoned buildings—the resistance whispered, planned, and waited.