And I want it. Want to be part of it with a desperation that should shame me but doesn't.
An hour later, we're bundled in winter coats and walking through snow that crunches pleasantly underfoot. The maze entrance is marked by towering hedges shaped into elegant arches, their dark green providing stark contrast to the white world around us.
"The trick," Irida confides as we enter the first corridor, "is to remember that the center isn't always the goal. Sometimes the best parts are hidden in the corners."
It's surprisingly profound advice from someone who barely reaches my waist. I'm still processing it when Mihalis adds, "She's not wrong. The maze was designed to reward exploration rather than efficiency."
The first ice sculpture appears around the second turn—a delicate fountain frozen mid-splash, each droplet captured in crystalline perfection. Sunlight refracts through the ice, throwing rainbow patterns across the snow-covered ground.
"It's beautiful," I breathe, genuinely awed.
"There are twelve more," Irida announces proudly. "Dad, can we play the hiding game now?"
"What's the hiding game?" I ask, though I suspect I already know.
"Dad closes his eyes and counts to thirty while we hide," she explains. "Then he has to find us. But the maze is really big, so it takes forever if you find a good spot."
The idea of being hunted through hedge corridors by a predator like Mihalis sends an entirely inappropriate thrill down my spine. "That sounds... interesting."
"I'll give you a head start," he offers, and there's something in his voice that makes me suspect he knows exactly what kind of reaction this game is likely to provoke. "Since it's your first time."
"I don't need special consideration," I reply, lifting my chin with mock defiance.
His smile is sharp enough to cut. "We'll see."
Irida claps her hands together. "Thirty seconds, starting now! No peeking, Dad!"
I grab her hand and we take off running, her delighted laughter echoing off the hedge walls as we navigate twisting pathways. Behind us, I can hear Mihalis counting in that deep voice that makes my stomach flutter.
We duck around corners and through narrow passages, Irida leading with the confidence of someone who's played this game a hundred times before. Snow flies from our boots as we run, and I find myself laughing—actually laughing—for the first time in longer than I can remember.
"Here!" Irida whispers, pulling me toward a small alcove hidden behind a curve in the hedge. "This is my secret spot!"
The alcove is barely large enough for both of us, carved from the living hedge and decorated with another ice sculpture—this one shaped like a sleeping dragon. We press ourselves against the hedge wall, breathing hard and trying to muffle our giggles.
"Twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty." Mihalis's voice carries clearly through the winter air. "Ready or not."
The silence that follows is charged with anticipation. I can hear snow crunching under heavy boots, but the sounds seem to come from multiple directions at once. He's not following our obvious trail—he's hunting systematically, cutting off escape routes.
"He's really good at this," I whisper to Irida.
"Dad's good at everything," she whispers back with absolute conviction. "But especially hunting games."
A shadow passes the mouth of our alcove, too quick for me to see clearly. My heart pounds with a mixture of excitement and something that feels dangerously close to desire. This is ridiculous—I'm a grown woman getting worked up over children's games—but there's something primal about beingpursued by someone like Mihalis that bypasses rational thought entirely.
Footsteps approach our hiding spot, measured and deliberate. Irida presses closer to me, trembling with excitement rather than fear. She knows she's safe. Knows her father would never do anything to truly frighten her.
I'm not entirely sure the same applies to me.
"I can smell jasmine perfume," Mihalis calls out, his voice closer than it should be. "Someone's not hiding as well as she thinks."
Irida stifles a giggle against my shoulder. I realize with horror that he's right—the perfume I'd applied this morning is probably a dead giveaway in the crisp winter air.
"And I can hear little bird heartbeats," he continues, clearly enjoying himself. "Fast and fluttery, like maybe someone's a little nervous about being caught."
The footsteps stop directly outside our alcove. Through a gap in the hedge, I catch a glimpse of a dark coat and broad shoulders. He's found us—is probably just drawing out the suspense for Irida's benefit.
"Now where could they possibly be?" he muses aloud.
