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Ozma was incredibly cheerful as she strolled into the gloomy-looking castle’s pale purple throne room. Dorothy was right beside her, careful to try to look as dignified as humanly possible. Around them, their luggage was being bustled away into the guest quarters. All eyes were on these two new, relatively ordinary, strangers to this very unusual world.
“Here we are,” Ozma sang out. “Wonderland. Isn’t it lovely?”
“It’s certainly interesting,” Dorothy said. She was trying to avoid doing anything that might endanger her mission with Ozma; no touching the walls, no eating anything that hasn’t been offered to her, and absolutely no losing oneself in philosophically-charged political debate. Oz had of course sent diplomatic emissaries to Wonderland before, and they had all come back a bit addled, though their philosophical questions were certainly fascinating.
“I’ve never been to a place where all of the roses are hand-painted either,” Ozma said, with a wry smile. They had even offered to help the poor servant who had been assigned to the task, but he had insisted it was his job and the queen would have their heads if he didn’t do it by himself.
Ozma and Dorothy came to the kingdom pre-warned. Everyone in the universe had heard the gossip about the woman who ruled this kingdom, how it all seemed to run on the whims of her desires. It wasn’t the best way to govern; there would be more dissention in Wonderland were the populace not completely lost in their own universes.
Dorothy gave her fellow queen a small smile and slipped her palm into her grip. They had been married for two years and yet it always felt as if they had just kissed for the first time. Bluebirds sang in the cage of Dorothy’s chest when Ozma sent her a small look. But now, of course, was no time to simper and fawn at one another. They were going to have to be astute and aware throughout the entire political process, or else end up somehow end up ceding Ozian lands into the world of Wonderland.
Ozma gave Dorothy a proud look; she had done so very well in helping out all of her political pursuits. She would do just fine on this international stage – her incredible bravery would shine right through, as it always did. That was what made her so incredible, and such an asset to her – and the love of her life.
Then they heard a very loud shout echoing up from the antechamber, and a woman bustled in under layers of silk and organza. “And as I told you ‘off with their heads!’” she shouted. Then she turned toward Ozma and Dorthy and smiled. “I see the royal family of Oz is here.”
Both Ozma and Dorothy were far too used to the mercurial ways of despots at this point in their lives to worry too much about this queen’s wild ways. “That would be us,” Ozma smiled. They bowed for each other, simultaneously, just to show that no person in the room was more regal and important than the other.
“How was your journey?” the queen asked. She clapped her hands. “Bring them tea! Now!”
“Well enough,” Dorothy sad.
“We had a fine time…” Ozma was forced to trail off as the carpet beneath their feet moved in a wild wave, shoving them forward. The servants literally peeled away from the walls, chattering and rushing about. Dorothy and Ozma found themselves pushed into a plushly-appointed sitting room, and then an elaborate tea was set out before them. The riot of scarlet danced before Dorothy’s eyes, but she took a firm grip on the cup of tea. She sent Ozma a look – she supposed drinking tea with the queen wasn’t as dangerous as imbibing it with talking rabbits. The tea itself was a delicious riot of bruised summer fruits and sweet cinnamon; Dorothy’s nerves were soothed.
“Now we’re talking about trade,” the Queen said. “You want an open road of travel through the magic mirror into my kingdom. I’m fine with that; my inns need business and there’s only so many walrus conventions we can throw. But what’s in it for Wonderland if we say yes?”
“Well,” Ozma said, daintily taking a large bite of raspberry tart. “We’ll export a fine amount of poppies to your kingdom.”
“We don’t need flowers, Ozma,” the queen snapped.
“But these flowers aren’t a single color,” Ozma smiled. She reached into the pocket of her dress and pulled out a handful of blossoms. The queen’s eyes went wide when she watched them shift from the deepest crimson to the creamiest shade of white without Ozma moving a finger. “Now you know what it’s like to deal with magic.”
“Of course you know what it’s like!” the queen snorted at Dorothy. “Any person with magical heft knows how to wield enough power to make something like this.”
“Oh, well – I’m not magical,” Dorothy confessed. The walls gasped in horror, as did the queen.
“You….aren’t a magical creature?” The Queen tilted her head at Dorothy. “And you let this woman into your life? Close to your bosom?”
Dorothy gulped. She pictured herself headless, a statue beside the queen’s rose bushes. But she said, “I may not be a magical person, but I’m not afraid of anyone or anything!” Her cheeks took on a heavy blush, and the queen’s expression showed a total lack of amusement.
Then sweet Ozma intervened, happy to soothe the ruffled feathers around her. “We’ve had a bit of trouble with charlatans who do,” said Ozma. “Isn’t honesty the most important part of governance? Why, I wouldn’t know what I’d do without my Dorothy.”
Mollified, he queen sat down heavily. “I suppose after your wizard problem it makes sense. But tell me more about these flowers.”
Ozma again squeezed Dorothy’s hand. She knew her love was made for the larger stage. That bravery of hers made the rest of the tea bearable – and helped keep the trade route between Oz and Wonderland wide open.