Chapter 12
The Betting Pool
The hoofbeats were steady and rhythmic as Caspian's company rode north toward the border.
He should have been focused on the mission. On the reports of Blightspawn incursions, the tactical formations needed to handle coordinated monster attacks, the supply lines and patrol rotations that would need adjustment.
Instead, his mind kept replaying the courtyard.
"I'm worried about you."
"So will I."
Caroline standing there in a simple dress, standing next to her future apex predator, looking up at him with genuine concern in her amber eyes. No manipulation. No games. Just... worry.
For him.
Caspian had been riding out to the border for eleven years. In the two months since their marriage, his wife had never once come to see him off. She'd treated his departures as welcome absences, opportunities to be rid of him.
But today, she'd hurried down to the courtyard specifically to tell him to be careful.
"You're smiling," Edwin observed from beside him.
Caspian immediately schooled his expression back to neutral. "I'm not smiling."
"You were definitely smiling. I saw it. Thomson saw it too, didn't you, Thomson?"
The soldier riding behind them—the scout leader and tracker who'd served under Caspian for seven years—grinned. "Saw it clearly, Captain. His Grace was definitely smiling."
"I was not—" Caspian started.
"It's because of the Duchess, isn't it?" Edwin continued, clearly enjoying himself. "The way she came down to see you off? Called you 'my husband' in front of everyone?"
Several soldiers nearby were suddenly very interested in this conversation.
"Focus on the mission," Caspian said firmly.
"We are focused," Edwin countered. "We're just also enjoying the entertainment. Your wife came to see you off, Your Grace. Looking genuinely worried. That's significant."
"It could be part of her strategy," Caspian said, though even he was starting to doubt that.
"What strategy?" Thomson asked. "The 'make His Grace actually look forward to coming home' strategy? Because if so, it's working."
Several soldiers chuckled.
Caspian shot Thomson a look, but the older soldier just grinned back unrepentantly. Thomson had served under Caspian's father before transferring to Caspian's command. He'd earned the right to speak freely.
"The Duchess has changed," another soldier—Garrett, one of the younger ones—spoke up hesitantly. "Even we've noticed it, Your Grace. The servants are talking about it."
"What are they saying?" Caspian asked, despite himself.
"That she's been apologizing to staff," Garrett said. "Being kind to everyone. Actually learning people's names. The cook hasn't stopped crying happy tears for two days."
"She bonded with a Dreamweaver cub," another soldier added. "Named it Mochi. The kitchen staff say she hand-fed it for almost an hour to earn its trust."
"Mochi?" Thomson laughed. "She named an apex predator Mochi?"
"It's apparently a dessert from the capital," Edwin supplied. "Sticky on the outside, ice cream inside."
"That's adorable and slightly concerning," Thomson said.
"That's his wife in a nutshell," Edwin agreed, grinning at Caspian.
Caspian ignored them both and focused on the road ahead.
They rode in silence for a few minutes before Edwin spoke again, his tone more serious.
"She really did seem worried about you, Your Grace. I was watching her face when you left. That wasn't an act."
Caspian thought about Caroline's expression. The way her body had stiffened when he'd confirmed the mission could take several days. The genuine concern in her voice.
"Be careful. Please."
"She's still in love with Sinclair," Caspian said quietly.
"Is she?" Edwin asked. "Because from where I'm standing, the woman who spent two months crying over Earl Sinclair has spent the last two days watching you train, blushing every time you look at her, and telling you she'll miss you. That doesn't sound like a woman pining for someone else."
"People don't change that quickly."
"Maybe they do when properly motivated," Thomson suggested. "The Duchess is pregnant with your child, Your Grace. She's building a life here. Perhaps she's decided to actually invest in it."
"Or perhaps she's realized that being openly hostile wasn't working and has adjusted her strategy," Caspian countered.
"Or," Edwin said, "perhaps you're overthinking this because you're scared she might actually be genuine and you don't know what to do with that."
Caspian gave Edwin a sharp look, but his captain just smiled back innocently.
They rode for another hour before stopping to water the horses at a stream. Caspian dismounted and was checking his gear when he overheard a conversation between several soldiers.
"I'm telling you, two weeks," one of them was saying. "Two weeks maximum before His Grace kisses her."
"You're optimistic," another replied. "I say a month. He's too tactical. He'll want to observe more first."
"What are you talking about?" Caspian demanded.
The soldiers immediately straightened, looking guilty.
"Nothing, Your Grace," the first one said quickly.
"It didn't sound like nothing."
Edwin appeared at Caspian's elbow, grinning broadly. "They're discussing the betting pool, Your Grace."
"The what?"
"The betting pool," Edwin repeated. "On how long it takes before you kiss your wife. It started earlier today after the tea incident."
Caspian stared at him. "The tea incident."
"When you got visibly flustered watching her eat dessert and had to drink an entire cup of tea to compose yourself," Edwin clarified helpfully. "The entire household staff witnessed it. Word spread. Betting began."
"There is a betting pool," Caspian said slowly, "among my soldiers and staff, about my personal life."
"Not just a pool," Thomson added, walking over. "It's quite extensive. We've got categories for first kiss, first public display of affection, when you'll drop the 'Lady' and just call her Caroline in public—"
"When I'll what?"
"You still use 'Lady Caroline' in front of everyone," Edwin explained. "Very proper. Very formal. Everyone's noticed. They're betting on when you'll get comfortable enough to drop it."
Caspian pressed his fingers to his temples. "This is inappropriate."
"This is entertainment," Thomson corrected. "Your Grace, we've been watching you be a tactical genius and emotional brick for years. This is the most interesting thing that's happened since you accidentally complimented Captain Hawkridge's new armor and he thought you were being sarcastic."
"I wasn't being sarcastic," Caspian muttered.
"We know that now," Edwin said. "But at the time, it caused a very confusing week of me trying to figure out if I'd offended you somehow."
Several soldiers were now openly listening to this conversation, clearly entertained.
"What are the current odds?" one of them called out.
"Thomson has two weeks at three-to-one," someone replied. "Garrett went bold with one week at five-to-one. Most of the conservative bets are around the month mark."
"I put money on 'after he returns from this mission,'" Edwin said cheerfully. "The reunion will be emotional. She'll be worried. He'll be relieved to see her safe. Perfect moment."
Caspian stared at his best friend and captain. "You bet on my personal life."
"I bet on your happiness, Your Grace," Edwin corrected. "There's a difference."
"I'm not kissing my wife just to settle a betting pool."
"Of course not," Edwin agreed. "You'll kiss your wife because you want to. The betting pool is just keeping things interesting while we wait for you to figure that out."
"I'm not—" Caspian stopped. "This conversation is over. Mount up. We have monsters to kill."
"Changing the subject," Thomson observed. "Classic avoidance behavior."
"Thomson," Caspian said with forced patience. "I could reassign you to latrine duty."
"You could, Your Grace, but then you'd lose your best tracker, and we both know it."
He wasn't wrong.
Caspian mounted his horse and urged it forward, leaving his amused soldiers to follow.
Edwin caught up quickly, still grinning. "For what it's worth, Your Grace, I think she's genuine. I've been watching her too. The way she looks at you—that's not manipulation. That's attraction. Possibly even affection."
"You're speculating."
"I'm observing," Edwin corrected. "The same way you taught me to observe enemy movements and predict their intentions.
Your wife watches you the way someone watches something they find fascinating and appealing.
She blushes when you catch her looking. She makes excuses to spend time with you. She worries about your safety."
"She tried to poison me three weeks ago."
"And she's been apologizing and changing her behavior ever since," Edwin countered. "Your Grace, I understand being cautious. But at some point, you're going to have to decide whether to trust the evidence in front of you or keep waiting for the other shoe to drop."
Caspian rode in silence, processing that.
The evidence suggested Caroline was genuine. Her concern this morning. Her blushing throughout tea earlier today. The way she'd called him 'my husband' so naturally, as if the possessive meant something.
But evidence could be manufactured. Behavior could be calculated.
Except... calculating this level of consistent behavior change, maintaining it across dozens of interactions with different people, would require extraordinary effort and planning. And Caroline before had been impulsive, reactionary.
"You're thinking too hard again," Edwin observed.
"I'm being tactical."
"You're being scared," Edwin said, more gently. "Which is fair. She hurt you. Trapped you into a marriage you didn't want. But Your Grace—if she's genuinely trying to change, genuinely trying to build something real with you, don't you owe it to yourself to at least consider the possibility?"
Caspian thought about Caroline's smile when he'd agreed to let her keep Mochi. About the way she'd thanked him so earnestly. About how she'd looked in that courtyard, worried for his safety.
"So will I."
"I don't know what to do with her," Caspian admitted quietly.
"Well," Edwin said, "you could start by coming back from this mission alive so you can have dinner with her again. I heard she was quite disappointed when you had to cancel tonight."
"She was?"
"Edmund said she looked genuinely sad when informed. Changed out of a very nice dress and immediately went to find you."
Caspian hadn't realized she'd dressed up for dinner. The thought made something warm settle in his chest.
"Focus on the mission," he told Edwin, more to remind himself than anything.
"Of course, Your Grace. The mission." Edwin's grin returned. "Which we will complete as quickly as possible so you can get home to your wife who misses you and might possibly let you kiss her."
"Edwin."
"Just stating tactical objectives, Your Grace."
Thomson rode up on Caspian's other side. "For the record, Your Grace, I'm rooting for you. The Duchess seems lovely, and you deserve some happiness."
"Hear, hear," several soldiers called out from behind them.
Caspian didn't know whether to be touched or mortified that his entire company was apparently invested in his marriage.
"All of you need to focus on the actual mission," he said firmly.
"We can do both," Thomson assured him. "Multi-tasking. Very tactical."
The rest of the ride was mercifully free of commentary about his personal life, though Caspian caught several soldiers whispering and exchanging coins when they thought he wasn't looking.
As they neared the border and the reports of Blightspawn activity became more frequent, Caspian forced his mind back to tactical considerations. Formation positions. Supply status. Estimated enemy numbers based on patrol reports.
But in the quiet moments—when they stopped to make camp, when he was checking his weapons before sleep—his mind drifted back to the courtyard.
To amber eyes filled with genuine concern.
To a soft voice saying his safety mattered.
To the warmth in his chest when she'd called him her husband.
Caspian settled into his bedroll that night, staring up at the stars.
Somewhere to the south, Caroline was probably having dinner alone in her chambers. Feeding Mochi treats and perhaps reading or resting.
Was she thinking about him?
Did she really miss him, or had that been polite words with no real feeling behind them?
"Be careful. Please."
The memory of her voice, soft and worried, echoed in his mind.
"Can't sleep?" Edwin asked from his own bedroll nearby.
"Just thinking about tomorrow's approach," Caspian lied.
"Sure you are." Edwin's voice held clear amusement. "Has nothing to do with wondering whether your wife is thinking about you too."
"Go to sleep, Edwin."
"For what it's worth," Edwin said, more seriously, "I think she is. Thinking about you. Missing you. Probably worrying about whether you're safe."
"You don't know that."
"Neither do you. But you could find out when you get back." Edwin rolled over. "Goodnight, Your Grace. Try not to overthink yourself into insomnia."
After Edwin's breathing evened out into sleep, Caspian lay awake for a while longer.
Three days. Maybe four. That's how long this mission would take if everything went according to plan.
Three or four days before he could see Caroline again. Before he could determine if her concern had been genuine or performance.
Three or four days to wonder if she was safe. If the estate was running smoothly. If Mochi was behaving himself.
If she was thinking about him even a fraction as much as he was apparently thinking about her.
This is ridiculous, Caspian thought. I'm a military commander on a critical mission. I should be focused on tactics and strategy, not on whether my wife misses me.
But as he finally drifted off to sleep, the last thought in his mind was of Caroline's face when she'd told him to be careful.
And the warm certainty that he wanted to see that expression again.
Preferably as soon as possible.