Bennett lingered behind to stare at them for a little longer as the rest of us followed Lady Ruan further backstage.
“And here are the fliers Celeste signed,” Lady Ruan said, pointing to a nook where a small desk sat piled with papers. The very same fliers I found in Dominic’s bag and the farmer’s pocket. “Isn’t the illustration just lovely? It’s a favorite among the audience–we had to print so many!”
A stagehand rushed past us, arms laden with a wooden set piece. A corner knocked into my shoulder. I stumbled back, steadying myself against the desk. A few fliers rained to the floor.
Father furrowed his brow. “Cissa, are you hurt?”
Before I could respond, Bennett rushed to me.
“Narcissa!” he said, grabbing my wrist. “Are you injured? Where does it hurt?”
I blushed. “I’m fine. I promise.” It felt like the billionth time he had asked about my well-being.
“No need to raise your voice, Bennett,” King Maximus said, raising a brow. “Lady Narcissa has not been impaled.”
Bennett released my wrist.
“Apologies, milady.” The stagehand who bumped into me bobbed a shallow bow, wringing his hands.
I inclined my head.
Lady Ruan frowned. “Patrick, you really ought to watch where you’re going!” She ushered the youth behind the curtains, no doubt to give him a good scolding.
Pippin rolled onto the pile of fliers carpeting the floor.It smells like a lemon grove, he said.
One caught my eye. It had a wet spot. I picked it up. The scent of lemons wafted to my nose. I frowned, turning it over. Why would there be lemon juice on the fliers? The mark looked deliberate, a trail of liquid forming into something that resembled a letter. But the rest had dried, indiscernible.
King Maximus rubbed his face. “I’ll take my leave. I am tired.”
Lady Ruan rushed out from behind the curtain. “Of course, Your Majesty. I will have a meal sent to your suite as soon as possible.”
King Maximus nodded. He motioned for Father to follow as he left.
“Settle down first, my dear,” Father said to Lady Vanessa. Turning to me and Maddox, he smiled. “I’ll see you two soon.”
The group scattered, but I stood, puzzled, as I held the flier. Bennett rested a hand on my arm. I turned to him.
“There...might be something going on here,” I said.
Bennett searched my face. “You think so too?”
I blinked in surprise. “Yes.”
His expression turned serious. “Come. We can discuss this elsewhere.” He looked down at the tabby cat rolling in the fliers. “You too, Pippin.”
