Looting a hastily abandoned war camp was an art form that required speed, an eye for quality, and a lack of moral fiber.
Elian and Ambrose possessed all three in spades.
They stood inside Princess Rowena's personal command tent. Despite the freezing mud outside, the interior was floored with thick Persian rugs and heated by brass braziers.
"She brought a mahogany vanity to a siege," Ambrose observed, running a finger over the polished wood of a massive mirror. "Say what you will about her personality, Player Two understands the necessity of comfort."
"The Crown is broke, Ambrose. I need hard currency, or we're going to be eating boiled boots by winter," Elian muttered, rummaging through an oak desk. He shoved aside maps and troop rosters.
Ambrose ignored him, elegantly folding a set of emerald-green silk sheets and stuffing them into a canvas sack. "I am claiming these for the Church. The orphanage needs... luxury bedding."
