Actually, genuinely happy.
"So," Edwin said as they broke apart and reset. "The Duchess. She's... different now?"
"Very different," Caspian said.
"Good different?"
"The best different," Caspian said, and there was something warm in his voice that made Edwin's grin widen. "She chose me, Edwin. Not because of obligation or family pressure. She chose me."
"And you chose her back."
"Without hesitation."
Edwin nodded, then lunged forward with a complex combination that Caspian deflected smoothly.
"I'm happy for you," Edwin said sincerely. "Truly. You deserve this."
"Thank you."
They continued sparring, and around them, the rest of the soldiers continued their own training routines. But everyone kept stealing glances at their Duke, who was moving through familiar patterns with a small smile on his face.
The Butcher of the North.
The Frost Reaper.
Winter's Blade.
Currently four hours late to training because his wife had "needs," and completely shameless about it.
"You know the men are going to talk about this for months," Edwin said.
"Let them," Caspian replied. "I don't care."
"They're going to make up increasingly ridiculous stories."
"Still don't care."
"Someone's probably going to write a very inappropriate ballad."
"Edwin."
"What? I'm just preparing you for the inevitable."
"The only thing inevitable," Caspian said, executing a particularly impressive disarming maneuver, "is that I'm going to continue being late to training sometimes. And I'm not going to apologize for it."
"Because of your wife's needs," Edwin said, grinning.
"Because I'm choosing my wife," Caspian corrected. "Every time. Without question."
"Even over your sacred morning training routine that you've maintained religiously for a decade?"
"Especially over that."
Edwin shook his head in mock despair. "You're completely lost to us."
"I prefer to think of it as found," Caspian said. "I was lost before. Now I know exactly where I belong."
"In your wife's bed until ten in the morning?"