Every time he stepped foot inside the menagerie, he felt a rush of embarrassment. The menagerie formed a trail, separated by manicured lawns, benches and fountains. Every few paces, a separate vista revealed itself and one need only step through that archway to find oneself in a lush jungle, sandy desert or cool forest. The creatures had room to hide, but they never did, for their fears had been removed by the menagerie’s enchantments.
Inside, all manner of beasts awaited visitors. There was the gigantic snail nearly the size of an oak who ambled over roots in search of a mate, not knowing that it was the last great snail in existence. At the desert archway, the scorpion-tailed cats liked to roll over Arris’s feet, purring and marking his legs, oblivious to the fact that their native land had hunted them to near extinction for their poisonous pelts. In the mountain vista, the rock owls had come to associate Arris with mice, and no sooner would he appear than they would soar out from their boulders, graceful despite their feathers of granite and quartz. They were exquisite birds, beloved of fantastical taxidermists and obscure apothecaries who considered their rocky plumage to hold great healing properties. Arris hated how sweetly they sat on his shoulders, chirping and fighting over mouse scraps. Their trust in him was unearned, and Arris always left the menagerie feeling that he had stolen something from them.
Visiting the menagerie was the closest Arris ever came to understanding how others might feel whenever they met him. Did they also find him docile, cheerful and utterly and completely trapped? Did they marvel over his riches as if they were the most resplendent of plumage and wonder how he might look as a trophy? Beneath Arris’s sorrow for the beings lay an emotion that shamed him, for it was pride. If there was only one difference between himself and the menagerie beasts it was this: at least he knew he was trapped. At least he had that dignity.
The morning after the first trial, Arris arrived at the menagerie early. Whatever emotion the place evoked in him,Arris wanted to desensitize himself to it before the contestants arrived. Once he stepped through the main gate he was met with a dozen conflicting smells. There were the smells of spruce-sweet mountains and boulders heated by the sun’s glare; plums rotting in autumn leaves and the charnel saltiness of the ocean. Beneath it all lay the unmistakable tang of the animals. All of this, Arris had expected.
What he didn’t expect was that he was not alone.
Walking along the pathway was Zoraya, the beauty from the Glimmers. She wore a shining purple dress that matched the amethysts braided through her hair. A pleasant swoop went through Arris’s chest when he saw her glance shyly in his direction.
“Your Highness,” she said, walking toward him before curtsying.
Arris reached for her hand and kissed it lightly. Zoraya smiled.
“You’re here early,” he said. “How are you finding the menagerie?”
“Oh, it’s beautiful,” she said, sighing. “My mother told me stories about the vanishing hue sparrows that once lived in the Glimmers. I never thought I’d actually see them alive, but when I walked past the cave pavilion I saw what I thought was a cluster of emeralds… but when I reached out to touch them, they flew apart into a dozen little birds. I feel as though this place has broadened the appetite of my dreams.”
“That’s a lovely sentiment,” said Arris, and he meant it.
How beautiful to see a place and take away only the dreams it might inspire.
“You’re the first to arrive,” said Arris, looking about the empty path. “Unless the others have met an untimely end all at once.”
“Unfortunately, no,” said Zoraya, before laughing. “I am only jesting, of course.” She flipped her hair over her shoulder. “I suppose everyone is still getting ready.”
“Ah, that makes sense,” said Arris. “Shall we take a walk, perhaps?”
But Zoraya was not finished.
“I always get dressed far too quickly, it seems,” she said. “You see, my mother forbade me from wearing face paints of any kind, and now I don’t really know how to apply such artifices, whereas for other ladies, it takes them ages to apply their cosmetics.”
“Cosmetics is a formidable art,” said Arris, thinking warmly of how he and Yvlle used to perch on their mother’s vanity to watch her get ready for court functions.
Zoraya looked annoyed. “I often wish other girls would befriend me and perhaps show me how to apply such paints and pretty falsehoods, but for some reason, other girls turn away from my company.”
“Really? How sad… They seem like a friendly lot though?” said Arris. “Perhaps if you ask them to instruct you in cosmetics, they will show you?”
Zoraya stopped fidgeting with her hair and glared at Arris. “So you’re saying that I need cosmetics?”
“What? No?” Arris blinked. “But you just said—”
“I’m so lonely all the time,” said Zoraya, taking in a shuddering breath. “But sometimes I think I inflict such isolationon myself so that I will never know rejection. Particularly when it comes to love…”
Arris paused. Her words had taken him by surprise.
“What?” asked Zoraya, alarmed. “Did I say something wrong, Your Majesty?”
“No, no… not at all,” said Arris. “I am very much in agreement with you.”
“You are just being kind,” she said, moving closer. Her voice was breathless. “You must think me a fool.”
Zoraya had beautiful eyes. They were as dark as caves and as bright as the jewels found within them. Arris very much wished to kiss her.
“I think anyone who makes themself vulnerable to such a thing as love is brave,” said Arris. “And I would rather be a brave fool than a cowardly sage.”
Zoraya smiled at him. He had not noticed until this moment that her teeth were a touch crooked. It charmed him.
