Epilogue
Nine months later
Westminster Palace
London
“And with this honor, I bestow upon you the Earldom of Wrexham.” The young boy of twelve years was quite solemn. “May you serve with distinction, Lord Wrexham. Lord Pembroke? You have more to say?”
He turned to William Marshal, who had been standing beside him in the fine throne room of Westminster Palace.
It smelled of incense and wood and smoke, of all things timeless that were the very cornerstone of English tradition.
Tristan was on his knees in front of the young king, looking rather uncomfortable at all of the accolades hurled in his direction.
His head was lowered, but off to his right, he could see Andromeda standing there, resplendent in a gown of blue velvet, a fabric new to England that had come all the way from Genoa.
She was smiling proudly as Alexander, Addax, Bric, and Peter de Lohr stood near her in their best regalia.
Also present at the ceremony were Christopher de Lohr, Earl of Hereford, and Julian de Velt, brother of Cole de Velt, lord of the de Velt empire.
Julian and Tristan were old friends, and Julian had made the trek down from the Scottish borders to be present at this momentous occasion.
Last but not least were Tristan’s father and brother, Juston and Ashton.
Juston, perhaps, looked the proudest of all.
With all of these very special people witnessing the ceremony that took Tristan de Royans from a mere knight to a powerful earl, and acknowledged him as the uncle to the reigning king, the Marshal came forward with a piece of vellum in his hand.
He opened it, reading the words in his deep and steady voice.
It was the voice of England.
“Your uncle, Philip of France, has granted you the title Duc de Lorraine,” he said.
“He has sent a missive, for you personally, that details your lands and holdings. As the nephew of the King of France, you are entitled to these holdings, and they are prestigious ones. But let us continue to discuss your English honors—you shall also be given the title Guardian of the Realm and the Earl of Dublin. Because of your wife’s Irish lineage, this makes her the Countess of Dublin, something that is her right and her due.
Congratulations, my lord. You are now richer and more powerful than I am. ”
The chamber, which was full of courtiers, advisors, and fighting men, broke out in applause as Tristan looked up at the Marshal, an embarrassed smile across his lips. He hated being the center of attention.
“Thank you, my lord,” he said. “I think.”
The Marshal chuckled, motioning for the man to rise.
Tristan stood up, taking the missive that the Marshal offered him before looking over to his wife, who was nearly bursting with joy.
But she looked as if she was fairly bursting these days as it was, with her visibly pregnant belly encased in the lovely blue dress.
Tristan had never seen her more beautiful.
“You and I will have a long conversation about your new titles and lands, Pat,” the Marshal said.
“As Guardian of the Realm, that is a title tantamount to my own. I think that, between you and I, we can make England stronger than ever. You’ve proven yourself time and time again.
It is time you reaped the reward and take your place amongst the great titled lords of England. ”
Tristan nodded, but it was with reluctance. “That is what my father said,” he said. “In fact, I should go speak with him before he grows impatient. We will speak soon, my lord, I promise.”
The Marshal’s gaze lingered on him a moment. “I do not give many people permission to do this, but I shall give it to you,” he said. “You may address me by my name. There is no need for formalities between us any longer, Pat.”
Tristan smiled faintly, genuinely touched by the gesture. Of all of the tributes he’d received since his arrival in London a short time ago, this was perhaps one of the most significant. He put his hand over his heart in gratitude.
“Thank you, William,” he said. “I am honored.”
As William snorted softly and turned away, back to a young king who was eager to be told he had performed Tristan’s ceremony flawlessly, Tristan crossed the room to where his father, brother, and wife were standing.
The first person that greeted him was Ashton, who threw him a big hug and nearly squeezed the life from him.
“My brother, the earl,” Ashton said with delight. “I’m very happy for you.”
Tristan was rubbing his chest where Ashton had nearly crushed him. “I can tell,” he said. “I may never be able to breathe again.”
Ashton opened his mouth to reply, but Julian stopped him, embracing Tristan as strongly as Ashton had.
“My father would have been so proud of you,” Julian said, grinning at Tristan.
“He knew what he had in you. He always said that if you were unleashed, it would have been a mighty thing to witness. Mayhap this is the start of that.”
Tristan’s expression grew soft with the memory of the great Jax de Velt. “I miss him, every day,” he said. “Serving at Pelinom was a great privilege, Julian. I hope I reflect your father’s training in everything I do.”
Julian patted him on the cheek. “Of course you do,” he said. “Cole and I will come to visit you at Wrexham once you’ve returned. We have much drinking and conversation to catch up on.”
Before Tristan could answer, Juston stepped in and pushed Julian aside.
He was tired of waiting. An enormous man who still kept his hair past his shoulders, tied back behind his head these days because his wife didn’t like him looking like a barbarian, Juston de Royans had just celebrated his seventieth year on the earth.
He was still very healthy and strong, and nothing short of an act of God would keep him from witnessing Tristan’s ceremony.
For a moment, he cupped Tristan’s face and simply looked at him.
It was a poignant moment.
“I remember a very little boy coming to Bowes Castle and being eager to work,” he said, his voice full of emotion. “Do you remember that moment? The first time we met?”
Tristan smiled at the man he loved deeply. “I do,” he said. “I was so frightened. I’d spent my life quietly until I ended up at Bowes with fearsome knights, so I was absolutely petrified.”
Juston smiled at the memory. “I know,” he said. “But I also knew you had come with a purpose, and that was to learn to be the man you are today. Henry’s seed may have given you life, Tristan, but you were my son. You will always be my son.”
That made Tristan feel quite emotional. He put his hand over Juston’s as the man still held his face. “Thank you, Papa,” he murmured. “I would not be who I am without you.”
Juston kissed him on the cheek before letting him go. “And now, you will soon have your own son,” he said, turning to look at Andromeda. “A son who is the product of both English and Irish royal lines. He will be the finest knight the world has ever seen, and I cannot wait to train him myself.”
Tristan snorted softly. “He should only be so fortunate,” he said.
“My children will grow up with something I lacked in my early childhood, and that is stability. The first time I ever had that was with you. But they also will grow up as the sons and daughters of the Earl of Wrexham and Dublin, and the grandchildren of the great Juston de Royans. That is a grand lot in life for any man.”
“But they are also the bearers of royal blood,” Juston said. “Irish kings and English kings. That is a rare and unique gift. It is too bad one of them will not rule.”
“Rule where?” Tristan said. “Ireland? England? Even France? Pick your country, for I have a claim to all three now. But I suspect that royal blood is not the great blessing people think it is. Look at Henry and Richard and John.”
Juston couldn’t disagree. “True,” he said. “But I still think you would have made a marvelous king. You are the monarch England needs but will never know.”
“Do not say that too loudly. Henry is already nervous enough around me.”
Juston laughed softly, patting Tristan’s cheek as Andromeda came toward him.
She had stayed away long enough and wanted to embrace her husband.
Juston, Ashton, and Julian moved away, allowing the couple some time to be alone, which would be a rare moment on this day.
A great feast was planned for this evening, and it promised to be a well-attended affair.
All of the nobles in London had received invitations, and preparations were already in the works.
Tristan had to admit that he was rather looking forward to it.
“The Earl of Wrexham and Dublin,” Andromeda said, hugging him tightly. “I am so terribly proud of you, my love. How does it feel to finally be recognized as one of the great men in England?”
He loosened his grip on her, looking her in the eye. “Nothing feels different,” he said. “I am the same man, only now I have a bit more power and money.”
Andromeda rolled her eyes. “A bit more?” she said. “I would say a good deal more. I still think they should not have told you any of this before the ceremony. Think of the surprise it would have been!”
She grinned at him, that adorable gap-toothed smile that he cherished, and he was forced to laugh at her enthusiasm.
“That is true,” he said. “It would have been quite a surprise. But knowing it was coming gave me a chance to speak with the royal scholars about the town of Wrexham and learn something about it. In ancient times, it used to be called Caer Fantell. Remember I told you that I wanted to take the name of the earldom I was granted?”
“I do. We will be called Wrexham?”
He shook his head. “Nay,” he said. “I would like to use the ancient name. We will be known as de Royans-Fantell.”
Andromeda’s eyes lit up. “I like that,” she said. “And our standard?”
“A golden oak set within a crimson shield.”