Elian stood in front of the linen closet in the East Wing. It was a nondescript door, usually locked, smelling faintly of lavender and starch.
According to the [Blackmail Ledger], it also smelled of illicit fermentation.
He checked the hallway. Clear.
"System," Elian whispered. "Unlock."
[Skill: Lockpicking (Basic) - Purchased previously. Active.]
The lock clicked. Elian pushed the door open.
It looked like a normal linen closet. Shelves of white sheets, piles of towels, a basket of pillowcases.
Elian reached behind the stack of 'Guest Towels (Second Tier)' and pulled. A false panel in the wood slid back.
Inside, nestled in straw, were six bottles of [Royal Reserve Vintage]. The good stuff. The stuff that cost more than a peasant's house.
"Mrs. Gable," Elian murmured, whistling low. "You naughty lush."
"What are you doing?" a sharp voice cracked like a whip behind him.
Elian didn't jump. He turned slowly, holding a bottle of wine by the neck.
