Marios was true to his word—Ourania barely had to glance at something for it to be hers. If her eyes lingered on a ribbon, he was already bargaining with the vendor before she even spoke. When she passed by a jeweler's stand and murmured how pretty the moonstone pendants looked, he pressed the shiniest one into her palm with a grin.
The air smelled of roasted meats and sweet honey cakes, music drifting from a group of fiddlers playing near the square's heart. Strings of wildflowers and lanterns lined the stalls, glowing softly as the evening deepened.
"Come," Marios urged, tugging her gently toward a row of game stalls. "I remember what you liked best."
They played ring toss, Marios insisting he'd win her a prize. He missed the first two tries, which made Ourania laugh, but his third landed neatly on the pole. With an exaggerated bow, he presented her the prize—a silk scarf dyed the color of ripe cherries. She tied it in her hair at once, delighted.
Then they approached the ball-throwing game, where you had to topple stacked wooden cups. Ourania's throws wobbled, but each time Marios clapped as though she'd brought down an army. He stepped in after her turn, easily knocking them all aside, and gave her the little carved dove that served as the prize.
They tried apple-bobbing, archery with blunted arrows, and even the balancing game on a spinning log. By the time they finished, Ourania's arms were laden with tokens and trinkets, each one won or bought with Marios's eager devotion.
When at last they sat, it was to feast on her favorites: roasted quail brushed with honey, flatbread sprinkled with herbs, sugared almonds, and warm berry tarts. They ate beneath a canopy of lanterns strung between two oaks, their glow softening the world into something dreamlike.
"I almost forgot how much I love this festival," Ourania said between bites, her cheeks flushed from laughter and wine. "Do you remember when we were children? You always carried my basket when we came here."
Marios smiled, his eyes never leaving her face. "Of course. You were always too delicate to carry anything heavy."
"Delicate," she repeated, amused. "Or spoiled?"
He chuckled. "Both, perhaps. But I never minded."
Their talk grew softer as the night deepened, weaving through childhood memories into subtler, tender confessions. A brush of fingers when he passed her a tart, a lingering gaze that made her heart quicken, the silence heavy with unspoken words.
Just when the air grew almost too tense to bear, the fiddlers struck up a lively tune, and the announcer called for the festival's traditional duo dance. The square brightened with movement as couples rushed to the center, laughter and excitement rippling through the crowd.
Ourania, seizing the chance to ease the tension, turned to him with a hopeful smile. "Marios… shall we?"
He blinked at her, startled at first, then his face softened. He extended his hand, bowing as though she were royalty. "There's nothing I'd rather do."
She placed her hand in his, her lips curving in satisfaction, as he led her into the lantern-lit square where the dance was beginning.
Around them, the festival swirled with laughter and music, but for Ourania, the world narrowed to the warmth of Marios' palm against hers.
He had spent the evening indulging her every whim — buying trinkets she barely needed, coaxing her into every game she loved, feeding her sweets until she laughed like a child again. And now, as the strings of the fiddles rose and couples began to take their places, it was as though the night itself had been arranged for them alone.
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