I slipped out into the palace gardens at midnight, the cool night air a sharp contrast to the heavy silence inside my head. Maxwell was already there, leaning casually against the wrought-iron fence, a dark hoodie pulled over his usual royal attire, making him look like he was trying-and failing-to go unnoticed.

I frowned. "Nice disguise. What's the plan? Sneak me out for a midnight stroll?"

He grinned, that irritatingly charming smile tugging at one corner of his mouth. "Something like that. Come on."

I crossed my arms, trying to steel myself. "Maxwell, we need to talk. About us. About everything that's been swirling around like a storm."

He shrugged, a playful glint in his eyes. "You talk, I take you somewhere you'll forget you wanted a serious conversation."

I blinked. "Seriously? You're dodging me again."

He stepped closer, voice low. "Not dodging. Just... prioritizing fun."

I huffed, trying not to smile despite myself. "You're impossible."

"Only for you," he teased, holding out his hand.

I hesitated, then took it.

"Good," he said, tugging me gently as we slipped past the palace gates and into the dark streets beyond. "I've been dying to show you something."

I narrowed my eyes. "You're hiding something."

"Maybe. You'll see."

We walked for what felt like forever, the city asleep except for the occasional flicker of streetlamps and the soft murmur of distant nightlife. Finally, we arrived at a small fairground, buzzing quietly with late-night laughter, the scent of popcorn and caramel hanging in the air.

Maxwell's eyes lit up. "Welcome to my secret escape."

I stared in disbelief. "You snuck me out to a fair? In the middle of the night?"

He laughed. "Yeah. What's better than cotton candy and bad carnival games to sort out our drama?"

I rolled my eyes but let him pull me toward a game booth.

"So," I said, crossing my arms again, "about the serious stuff."

Maxwell smirked, tossing a ring at a bottle. "Like how you keep stealing all my points?"

"Like how you keep pretending nothing's happening between us."

He caught my hand, pulling me close enough to see the challenge in his eyes. "Oh believe me, I don't ."

I shoved him lightly. "You're unbelievable."

"But you like it." He winked.

I groaned, half-laughing despite the fire still burning between us. "Fine. But we're talking later. No more running."

Maxwell leaned in, voice low and teasing. "I wouldn't dream of it."

And just like that, between the flashing lights and the sweet chaos of the fair, the fight melted into something dangerously close to... fun.

The glow of string lights wrapped the fairground in a warm, golden haze, casting soft shadows on Maxwell's face as he led me toward the next booth. The scent of popcorn and spun sugar hung heavy, and the distant clatter of game prizes mixed with laughter.

"So," I said, arms crossed, trying to keep my tone steady, "you drag me out here to avoid a real conversation."

Maxwell smirked, tossing a dart at a balloon. "I call it 'strategic distraction.' You're welcome."

"Strategic distraction," I repeated, arching an eyebrow. "Sounds like a fancy excuse for running away."

He shrugged, eyes twinkling. "Maybe. But isn't that what you do too? Pretend like nothing's going on whenever I get too close?"

I rolled my eyes. "Close? You mean that time when you pushed me into a lake?"

He laughed. "That was an accident!"

"Sure, if by 'accident' you mean 'totally intentional.'"

He caught my glare and stepped closer, lowering his voice. "Look, I'm not great at talking about feelings. I'm better at... well, annoying you."

I shoved him playfully. "Mission accomplished."

We moved on to the ring toss, where Maxwell's aim was surprisingly good. He snagged a small plush bear and handed it to me with a cocky grin. "For you. Consider it a peace offering."

I eyed the bear skeptically. "Is this your way of apologizing for being a royal pain?"

"Exactly." He winked. "Now you owe me a kiss."

"Dream on," I shot back.

He leaned in, voice low and teasing. "One kiss won't hurt."

I took a step back, but he mirrored me, eyes locked on mine. The air between us thickened, charged and electric.

"You are definitely insane," I whispered, barely daring to breathe.

"I believe I have told you that" he said analyzing my eyes and then my lips, he smiled carefully and stepped away "Come on I want popcorns" he said walking away as I followed like a lost puppy .

We walked side by side beneath the canopy of fair lights, the night still humming with noise and laughter and everything we hadn't said.

Maxwell bought the popcorn, naturally salted and absurdly overpriced, and handed me the bag like he was bestowing a royal gift.

"Don't say I never give you anything," he said.

"Oh, I wouldn't dare. I'll add it to the growing list: one stuffed bear, one near-drowning experience, one midnight kidnapping, and now-popcorn."

He smirked. "Careful. You're starting to sound like you enjoy being around me."

"I enjoy watching you fail at ring toss," I said, tossing a piece of popcorn at his head.

He caught it. With his mouth. "Talent."

I rolled my eyes. "Show off."

We wandered past booths and stands, stopping for games - mostly ones I thought I could beat him at. I didn't. Maxwell, it turned out, had an unfair amount of coordination and a highly suspicious amount of practice with carnival games. He won a ridiculous pair of sunglasses, a glittering pink tiara, and a plush frog he insisted on naming "Lord Hoppenheim."

"You're giving these to the kids at the orphanage or something, right?" I asked, eyeing his growing collection.

"Absolutely not," he said, placing the tiara gently on my head. "This one's for you. Royal pain to royal princess."

I didn't remove it. I hated myself for not removing it.

That's when we passed the entrance to the haunted house - or as the painted sign called it in blood-drip font: THE IMMERSIVE EXPERIENCE OF TERROR AND TRUTH.

"Absolutely not," I said.

"Absolutely yes," he replied, already dragging me toward the entrance. "Come on. What's the worst that can happen?"

"Possession. Death. Emotional scarring. All very realistic possibilities."

"Oh, please. You hang out with Frederick and me voluntarily. You've already survived worse."

"I'm not good with horror," I warned him, slowing my steps.

"I'll protect you."

"From rubber skeletons and overpriced fog machines?"

He grinned, pulling me inside with him. "From anything."

Inside was pitch black. The air turned cold, wet with artificial fog. There were strange whispers echoing, fake lightning, and - somewhere - the shriek of a banshee or a very committed teenage actor.

Maxwell held my hand before I could stop him. I told myself it was practical. Just so we didn't get separated. Nothing more.

He leaned close to my ear. "Don't worry. If something jumps out at us, I'll scream louder than you do. That way you look tough."

"You're lucky I didn't bring a mallet."

Something screamed. I screamed louder.

He laughed so hard he nearly tripped.

"Okay!" I hissed. "One more laugh and I'm feeding you to the next demon child that lunges at us!"

We turned the corner, and a wall panel suddenly slammed open. A man in a torn Victorian suit and a rotted mask lunged out.

Maxwell did scream.

And I... I jumped straight into his back hugging him and closing my eyes.

"Make it go"

"I can't do that"

"Do something! Beat it up I don't care"

"I am not beating up anyone"

"You are useless"

He snorted, hands still at his sides as I clung to his back like a terrified barnacle. "I think you're confusing me with Frederick. I don't carry concealed weapons or whatever lunacy he's into."

The actor, sensing my complete breakdown, simply groaned and slunk back into the shadows like a confused zombie on break.

I peeked out from behind Maxwell's shoulder. "Did it leave?"

"Yeah, and I think you hurt his feelings."

"Good."

"You're savage when scared. It's kind of hot."

I swatted him on the arm but didn't let go. "This place is cursed. I told you."

"It's just fake fog, some spooky lights, and-AH!"

Another ghostly figure dropped from the ceiling with a shriek. Maxwell yelped and nearly knocked me over as he stumbled backward into a curtain. We crashed through it, landing in what looked like a crooked dining room scene: cobwebs, fake rats, and a haunted candelabra flickering with green light.

He stumbled onto the table while I was on top of him. His arms instinctively caught my waist. Again.

There was a beat - just breathing, just eyes locked, faces inches apart.

"This isn't how I imagined our first candlelit dinner," he murmured.

"Shut up," I said, but it was too soft, too breathless.

"You shut up," he whispered back, his thumb brushing the side of my hip without thinking, like I was something he'd touched a hundred times before and couldn't stop now.

The silence between us was louder than the shrieking ghosts.

"Maxwell-"

But then a mechanical butler lunged forward from the shadows with a horrifying glitchy laugh - and a sudden, unnecessary explosion of confetti to the face.

I screamed. Like, full-throated, embarrassing, someone-might-call-security screamed.

Maxwell recoiled, hands flailing like he was swatting a bat. "What the-Was that glitter?!"

I stumbled backward, tripped on fake bones, and scrambled to my feet while trying to shake sparkles out of my hair.

"That one," Maxwell said, glaring at the animatronic, "was definitely possessed by Frederick. He lives to ruin our moments."

"Are you going to beat up the haunted butler now?" I asked, panting, glitter on my eyelashes, hand still clutching his sleeve.

"I'm considering it," he muttered darkly, cracking his knuckles. "I don't care if he's made of gears and regret."

"Oh please." I grabbed his hand and practically dragged him forward, not in the mood for him to throw hands with Halloween decor.

We stumbled out of the haunted dining room and into the next corridor - still breathless, still laughing, still soaked in fake fog and actual tension.

"I hate you," I said, wiping confetti off my face.

"No, you don't," he replied smoothly, tugging me just a little closer as we passed a distorted mirror. My legs looked three feet long. His head looked like a pumpkin. "You're obsessed."

"I think I am. I think I'm fully, royally obsessed... with hating you."

"Save it for after we survive this room." He gestured to a gothic archway ahead, where an old wooden sign read, ROOM OF SOULS: Do You Dare to Face Yourself?

"Great!" I said brightly. "Fantastic. Can't wait to be emotionally wrecked and also chased by a Victorian ghost."

Maxwell grinned like a madman. "You love it."

"I love pizza. I love sleep. I do not love haunted existential therapy chambers."

"There's nowhere to go but forward," he said, squeezing my hand. "Besides, I've already seen the scariest thing in here."

I looked at him, eyebrow raised. "What?"

"You. Without your morning coffee."

"Shut up."

We stepped into the Room of Souls, immediately engulfed by cold blue lighting and the whisper of dozens of eerie voices - a blend of distorted phrases and echoes that almost sounded like they were speaking directly to us.

Then, without warning, a ghostly figure dropped from the ceiling with a high-pitched screech inches from my face.

I screamed so loud my lungs folded in on themselves.

Maxwell yanked me into his chest like a human shield. "Okay," he gasped. "That one was for me. I deserved that."

"Kill it!" I shouted, barely holding back tears - and maybe a little vomit.

"I'm not killing it!" he shot back, holding me tightly. "It's made of fabric and trauma!"

Then something grabbed me - cold plastic hands with sharp, clawed fingers scraping my arm just enough to feel too real. I froze, heart slamming against my ribs. "It touched me! It touched me!"

I clutched Maxwell like he was the last dry towel on Earth. Without thinking, he spun and grabbed the ghost's arm - clearly mechanical but dressed in black tattered robes - and yanked it back like he was in some kind of royal exorcism.

"Now that's too far," he snapped, squinting up at the rigged animatronic. "No touching. Bad ghost! Very bad ghost!"

The ghost retracted back into the ceiling with a pathetic squeak of its pulley system and a final, glitchy laugh.

"Absolutely not," I muttered, still glued to his chest. "I am never trusting you again."

"I didn't design the Room of Souls!" he protested, breathless. "Although honestly, ten out of ten realism. I almost peed."

I didn't respond. I was too busy counting how many fingers I still had and wondering if I was having a mild heart attack or just panic-sweating glitter from earlier.

He gently pulled back to look at me. "Hey... you okay?"

I blinked at him, then glared. "You brought me into a death dungeon where the ghosts have fingernails, Maxwell."

He bit back a grin. "But we're bonding."

"Oh yeah, trauma bonding. That's so romantic."

"I saved you."

"You flung a mannequin."

"I flung it with passion."

I shoved his shoulder, and he laughed, catching my wrist and holding it. His eyes scanned mine, more serious now. "You really are okay?"

I nodded - then quickly added, "Physically. Emotionally, I might need a decade."

He smiled, but it was softer now. Realer. "Let's get out of here."

We finally emerged from the Room of Souls and out into the warm glow of the fair's lights, the distant sound of music and laughter washing away the cold haunted air behind us.

I exhaled. "If anything else touches me tonight, I'm throwing myself into the popcorn machine."

He offered me the bag again like a peace offering. "Would you feel better if we did something non-haunted? Like winning more stuffed animals?"

"You mean you winning them and me pretending I'm not impressed?"

"Exactly."

I smirked, taking a piece of popcorn. "Only if you win me something huge. Like, emotionally-repressed-prince huge."

He laughed. "So... like, me-sized?"

"Wow," I said, popping the popcorn into my mouth. "So humble." Then I saw a big tent with lots of mystery in it, I smiled "Let's do this" and I pulled him inside