the timid bride

# Chapter 76 – The Fenmark Uprising

The eastern road to Fenmark wound through hills cloaked in wild heather and moss-covered ruins—remnants of an older kingdom long buried by time. But as Zara and her army advanced, it was not nostalgia that filled the air. It was smoke.

The first signs of rebellion greeted them two days into the march: a burned-out watchtower, its guards slain and left to rot. The Fenmark banner had been ripped down and replaced with a crude flag bearing a black crown—a symbol Zara now recognized as Corshal's.

Damon rode to her side, jaw clenched. "He's inciting peasant revolts now."

"He's testing us," Zara said. "Seeing how far we'll bend before we break."

Scouts returned by dusk with reports of a full takeover—noble houses seized, town leaders executed, the capital of Fenmark under siege by Corshal's agent, Baron Harken. A minor lord, once stripped of land for corruption, now reinstated by chaos.

"Corshal is offering them a kingdom in exchange for their loyalty," Amara said, spitting the words like venom. "False crowns to desperate men."

Zara's gaze hardened. "Then let's show them what a real queen does."

---

By morning, the army reached the outskirts of Fenmark's capital—Greywatch. Once a thriving town of scholars and merchants, it now lay strangled under rebellion. Smoke curled from manor houses. Merchants' stalls were smashed, goods scattered. Armed peasants and hired soldiers patrolled the city walls like kings of ash.

Zara climbed a nearby ridge to study the layout.

"He's fortified the eastern gate with cannons," Amara noted. "But the western wall—still weak. Crumbled during last winter's storm."

Zara's eyes gleamed. "Then that's where we strike."

---

That night, under cover of darkness, Zara led a covert unit around the ridge. With ropes and silent steps, they scaled the broken western wall just before dawn. The guards were caught unaware, silence their only companion as blades flashed through their throats.

By the time the city alarm rang, Zara's army had poured through the breach.

Greywatch erupted in chaos.

Rebels clashed with Zara's soldiers in the main square, blood slicking the cobblestones. Fires raged in the north quarter as civilians ran for safety. Arrows rained from rooftops, and Baron Harken stood atop the old courthouse, barking orders like a rabid dog.

Zara stormed the courthouse steps with Damon and Amara at her side. Harken's men met them at the top, but were quickly overwhelmed.

She reached the baron within minutes.

"Your rebellion ends here," she said, sword drawn.

Baron Harken sneered, sword in hand. "You're too late. Corshal is already in the west. You're chasing ghosts."

"Maybe," Zara replied, "but this ghost is going to bury you."

Their duel was short and brutal. Harken fought with the desperation of a man who had bet everything and was now cornered. But desperation was no match for Zara's skill.

She disarmed him with a twist of her blade and drove her sword into his chest. He gasped, collapsing to his knees.

"You've lost," she whispered.

He smiled through blood. "You think this is the end? It's only the beginning."

He died with that smile.

---

The city was reclaimed before sunset. Fires extinguished, rebels imprisoned, and order restored under Zara's command. She walked the streets herself, speaking to the people, tending to the wounded, restoring calm by presence as much as authority.

Back in the mayor's hall, now repurposed as a temporary command center, Zara stood over a new map. This one was marked with rebel flare points across the kingdom—dozens of small sparks.

She tapped the western corner.

"Corshal's next move," she said. "He's hiding in the Westmere mountains. And he's running out of allies."

Damon folded his arms. "We've put out every fire. We've silenced every traitor."

Amara added, "He'll have to show himself now. No more proxies."

Zara nodded. "Then we make Westmere his grave."

---

That night, Zara stood on the ramparts of Greywatch, staring at the stars. She could still hear the cries of the dying in her ears, but also the cheers of the freed.

For every village lost, she had reclaimed two.

For every drop of blood spilled, she had made sure it meant something.

This was her trial by fire.

And she had emerged unburned.

(Word Count: 1,565)