Fearless Read-Along: Chapter Thirty-One Part One

Monday. Funeral day. Ava sat up before her alarm went off at six with a strange weightless feeling in her stomach. She’d been to almost a dozen such funerals, but never because of murder, and never after such a strange few days as these last few. MC funerals were bedecked in pomp, steeped in nostalgia, works of art, really, and for the first time since coming home, she woke up and felt almost like her old self. Like the club daughter, instead of the country club girlfriend. 

Welcome back to the Fearless read-along! Picking up where we left off, Chapter Thirty-One is a long one, so I'm going to split it into two posts. 

It's funeral day for the Lean Dogs: time to lay Andre to rest, and to make statements to the public, and to their enemies. 

In a fictional sense, funerals make for great tipping points. The reminder of our brief time on earth, the harsh reality of our own mortality, brings characters to decision points. This happens in real life, messily, imperfectly; in a novel, it can be cold and clean and a necessary catalyst for change. 

 

             The second her feet touched the floor, in the chilly dark of her room, the energy began fizzling in her veins, that strange, morbid excitement. A member was dead. Bring out the bikes, say all your prayers, give thanks for your once-percent blood. And so it always went. 

Ava wakes the morning of the funeral nervous and (guiltily) excited. The club daughter in her will always love the chance to show up for her family; to be counted amongst the Dogs. She's her mama's right hand, and there's a certain importance that makes her relish the role, even as a pall of sadness lies over them all. 

She begins the day comparing Ronnie to her family, and not merely finding fault with him, but actively asking herself why she's with him. Oh boy, Ronnie. It was never going to work, but then he drives the point home by being an ass at the funeral home. He's tried the Understanding Good Guy route, and now goes for scorn and shame; he's really so stupid he thinks that she'll chase after him, and put some distance between herself and her family. 

Ava cast a glance into the next room, at Ronnie massaging his scalp from his slump on the sofa. Why? she wondered. Why am I not allowed to have what my parents have? Why do I have – Ronnie dug his phone from under his pillow and checked it – this?

On Mercy's side of things, president-to-president contact is made with the Carpathians. Ghost lays down the law, Jasper bristles, and the stage is set for active combat. 

“Alright, Jasper,” Ghost said. The conversational tone, the assumed familiarity was grating on the younger man’s nerves, Mercy could see; Jasper’s jaw worked. “As much fun as this is, I didn’t come here for a social call. This” – Ghost circled a finger in the air, indicating the trip they’d all made to this side of town – “is your warning. Your polite warning. I am not having some all-out war with your crew. I don’t have time to play Cowboys and Indians with you. If you make one more move toward that end, I will kill you. I will destroy you, in every way possible.”

It's surreal to revisit this war with the Carpathians after Lord Have Mercy. The club started out fighting local enemies, and as the Dogs gained power and influence, so too did their enemies. It makes me want to shed a proud little mother tear over the ways they've grown since this first book; the challenges they were able to tackle and overcome as the years went by. 

The back half of the chapter contains all the ~revelations~, and the steamy bits, and I'll post about that next Monday. 

Avarice of the Empire: The Debriefing

Book six in the Drake Chronicles, Avarice of the Empire, dropped one week ago today. It's one of the shorter books in the series, but packs a big punch. Let's dive into it. 

This book picks up where Fortunes of War left off, and like Fortunes, the majority of the action takes place on the long march toward the capital of Aquitainia. That's due in part because it's a long way from Drakewell and an even longer way from Aeres. This is a fantasy realm, but these are also Olden Days: travel takes time; it's laborious, and dusty, and sweaty, and terribly unfun. But that's the beauty of writing this sort of travel: it provides automatic tension. I can then use that tension to further all the character relationships, be they romantic, friendly, or hostile. 

I can't tell you how many times I've read books in which the author writes in a flight, or a road trip, or even a long walk, and simply says "we flew to Nashville," or "we walked ten miles," so on, etc. That trip can certainly be a point A to B move, without incident, but if you have characters trapped together for hours, or days, or weeks, you have a ready-made environment for interpersonal development, and that's what Avarice highlights. 

Beware of spoilers ahead! 

AOTE: "How was dinner?"

 

We get a glimpse of the capital of Aquitainia in Avarice of the Empire...but likely not in the way anyone expected! 

My full author debriefing is coming on Sunday, a full week since the book's drop, and there will be spoilers. Until then, enjoy Cassius's pretty ankles. 

With a sigh, she let herself inside the chamber, and when the door was shut, heard the lock turn from the outside.

The fire crackled merrily, bright and pulsing warmth into the chamber. Candles flickered on the bedside table, and in the sconces, and on the low table in front of the sofa.

She thought it was the work of a slave—and it was, but not the lady’s maid she’d envisioned.

Cassius straightened from the table and blew out the fireplace spill he’d used to light the candles. He’d lost his stiff coat since she’d left for dinner, dressed now in a spring weight thigh-length tunic and breeches. The ensemble made his shoulders look broad—broader than she’d thought they were.

“My lady,” he greeted. “How was dinner?”

She turned, crossed to the sideboard, and poured herself a large measure of wine.

“Ah.”

She took a long, fortifying swallow and turned to lean back against the sideboard. Cassius, she saw, had perched on the arm of a chair, legs stretched out long in front of him, crossed at the ankles. He’d traded his usual boots for a soft-looking pair of slippers; they were dark purple lined with some sort of dyed fur, a sharp contrast to his pale, trim ankles. She stared at them a moment, the distinct lines of bone and tendon, the faint blue tracing of veins.

Pretty, she thought, and then gave herself a mental shake and took another slug of wine.

“Did you see your sister and cousin?” he asked, and she looked up at his face.

If he’d looked informal earlier, he was downright casual now. Clearly tired, no longer trying to hold his expression in check. He sat with arms folded, brows drawn together, chewing at his lower lip in an absent way. His sleek white hair was ruffled on top, like he’d been raking it back with his hands, and she realized he’d taken out the leather tie that kept it pulled back at the crown. It framed his face in a whole new way, now; lent a little color to his cheeks by contrast.

Again, against her will, she was reminded of Mal. Of him unbuttoning his collar and slouching against her bedpost, relaxed but attentive, caring but ready to tell her a hard truth should she need to hear it.

#TeaserTuesday: Cassius

My favorite character in any movie is always a secondary character, rather than the main. I will watch a truly crap movie just for three minutes of screen time from an underrated actor who's one of my faves. When it comes to writing, all of my main characters are of the sort that would be secondary in another author's hands...and then I still have favorites amidst the peripheral cast. 

In the Drake Chronicles, Náli and Ragnar have been my favorites, but Cassius gives them a run for their money in Avarice. 

Cassius drew breath and said, “I suppose you’re wondering where my guards are this morning.” Casual, but with an undercurrent of guilt.

“The thought did cross my mind.”

A sideways glance proved he was frowning, a small, downward curve at the corner of his mouth that made him look thoughtful and serious. Again: if this was an act, it was a convincing one. “Lords William and Henry were tasked with guarding me overnight.”

“They aren’t lords, Cassius. ‘Misters’ will suffice.”

“Lords William and Henry,” he persisted, “began playing a dice game of some sort to pass the time. Each of them had a flagon of wine, and they began drinking, and, well…they’re rather indisposed this morning.”

“They’re unconscious, you mean.”

“I’m afraid so.”

Amelia nodded, and made a mental note to stick William and Henry with latrine duty for the next fortnight. “That sort of thing can happen, on campaign. But I’m afraid it doesn’t explain your lack of ankle shackles.” She lifted her brows, expectant.

“Ah. Yes. Well.” It was hard to tell, given the silver morning, but his cheeks were so pale she thought she saw him blush. The near corner of his mouth tugged to the side, not really a smile. “I may have availed myself of the key, which was hanging quite helpfully on Lord William’s belt.”

Make that latrine duty for the rest of his life.

Amelia swallowed down a swell of alarm, relieved and surprised when it didn’t resurge. She was concerned, but not frightened. Not panicking.

“So,” she said, “you waited until they passed out, then nicked the key from William’s belt, unlocked your shackles, and, what, went for a little dawn walk?”

“Only the leg shackles. I left these.” He hoisted his wrists in demonstration.

She felt a ridiculous urge to laugh. “I see. A prisoner with principles, then.”

Avarice of the Empire is now available! You can grab it in Kindle or paperback HERE.

Now Available: Avarice of the Empire

 

It's finally here! Avarice of the Empire, Drake Chronicles Book VI, is now available for Kindle and paperback. I'll work on getting it up on Kobo and Nook today, but, Amazon readers, she's ready and waiting for you.

Grab it HERE.

Spring has arrived in the South, and the Aquitainian and Aeretollean forces of the East march along separate roads toward a convergence at the capital, where they’ll finally face down the Immortal Emperor Unchallenged, Romanus Tyrsbane.

To the north, Oliver finds himself drawn deeper and deeper into a tangled web of deception, as he continues to meet with the emperor in secret and hides it from Erik, who grows more suspicious and worried by the day.

To the south, Amelia struggles to maintain a tenuous control over an army that includes her drakes, Southern outlaws and soldiers, and Prince Leif, whose every step is haunted by his thrall cousin, Ragnar. She wars with her burgeoning attraction to them…and with her fascination and sympathy for their Sel captive, Cassius.

In the sixth installment of the Drake Chronicles, skirmishes lead to shocking developments, and even more shocking revelations. Above all, the heroes of the East come to learn that they’ve vastly underestimated the emperor.

This is an ongoing, non-standalone novel that must be read in order. Check out the rest of the series: Heart of Winter, Edge of the Wild, Blood of Wolves, Demon of the Dead, and Fortunes of War. And be on the lookout for the next and final installment, coming soon!

#TeaserTuesday: AOTE Ch. 1

 

"What are you doing?"

"Showing you your inheritance."

I'm working away on edits for Avarice of the Empire so it can be in your hands ASAP! For today's chapter, I'm sharing all of Chapter One.

Copyright © 2025 by Lauren Gilley 

1

 

On the Road

Aquitainia

 

“Oh, her eyes were blue, and her smile was red,

“She always baked the softest bread…

Oliver gritted his teeth, and belatedly realized that he’d tightened his hands on the reins when his horse tossed his head. “Sorry, boy,” he murmured, loosening his fingers and stroking the gelding’s neck.

Some half-hour ago – though it felt like more – they’d emerged from the cover of forest into a sea of wavering grassland: pastures gone unthreshed after the loss of life during the war, its farmers and their sons having marched to the capital, and been killed or captured. Out in the open, with the drakes circling lazily overhead of the Phalanx, Magnus had started singing, a few others had picked it up, and no one had told them to hush or risk drawing the attention of enemies hiding in the brush.

Fearless Read-Along: Chapter Thirty

High school had treated a select handful like kings, and all the rest had been churned up in the machine, spat back out with an impressive collection of bruises and scars. Aidan had known one way of life, and because of it, he’d never been one of the kings. He’d had girls, and he’d had his share of notoriety, but his fame was the kind granted to drop-outs, back-talkers, bathroom-smokers, and class-skippers. He hadn’t ever hated school, it was just that it had always felt like such a massive waste of time. Men were dying, his father’s men, in a war of outlaw against outlaw, and kids two desks over had been having meltdowns about who to ask to homecoming. 

I don't ever write straight-up self-insert characters. That would be silly, because all of my characters are the children of my imagination, so I work some of my own experiences and sentiments into all of my characters - sneakily, I hope. I wasn't a drop-out, back-talker, bathroom-smoker, or class-skipper, but, like Aidan, I felt like school was a massive waste of time. I was in all honors and AP classes, and always did my homework; performed well on my SATs. But there was so much pointless sitting around, and movie watching, and group reading. Lord deliver me from the in-class group "popcorn" reading. I would have much rather studied at home and focused all my efforts on my equestrian endeavors, but alas, I had to go to school. 

I feel like Aidan and Tango meeting with Greg at Stella's is the Big Scene of this chapter. It's Aidan's first POV moment (he's a brat, and not my favorite Dog in a personal sense, but he's very fun to write), and it's the club's first step toward engaging with the rival Carpathians. 

The Greg storyline is actually my favorite secondary plotline in the book. It offered me the chance to explore Aidan in an active, relevant way so that, going forward in the series, you know what sort of person he is. And there's a nice little line in this scene where we start see how deeply his sense of inadequacy runs. 

Aidan grinned – nice and big, lots of teeth showing – and glanced over at Tango to get a matching one in return. They’d played this scenario out so many times over the years – he might not be his father’s go-to guy, no, but he and Tango could circle like boxers with the best of them. Maybe, one of these days, Ghost would take note of that.

Poor dude just wants his dad to be proud of him.

And I think Ghost, had he seen the exchange, would be very proud of Aidan for his little visit to a hungover Mercy at the bike shop. 

“I think I misjudged you, five years ago,” Aidan said, levelly. “And I won’t make that mistake again.”

Aidan's not a confrontational guy when it comes to his club brothers, and he does genuinely like Mercy. But he's got his eye on him. 

Downtown, Ava has her first run-in with Mason Jr. since coming home, and it's as traumatic for her as you'd expect. Not only does she have a physical anxiety response to seeing him, but she's forced to face the hard truth that, no, she doesn't love Ronnie, and doesn't think she ever will. Hardly a shocking revelation. 

What I wanted to touch on with more depth is actually her description of the book shop. 

Wherever she was, whichever city or state, whatever mood she was in, there was nothing like a book store to fill her up with happiness. Her favorite in Knoxville was Fourth Down, a tiny, cramped shop that boasted selling second-, third- , and fourthhand books of all genres, just around the corner from the university, the wall behind the register hosting a huge, artistic shot of Neyland. In this shop, she didn’t have to slog through the double-spaced, fast-read novels that leapt off the center displays in the chain bookstores. Here was where she found fat paperbacks with curling covers, cramped print, and coffee stains on the edges of the pages. Here were her favorites from the nineties, the lyrical novels that redefined genres. Here was where she stumbled across faded hardbacks with handwritten dedications in the fronts, that collection of Kipling poems dedicated to Martha, dated 1917. Fourth Down smelled of ink and dusty paper, collapsing bindings and musty cardboard covers. Dust motes swirled in big sprightly columns in the narrow shafts of sunlight that came in through the high windows. It was a magic place: books on shelves, on stools, in stacks on the floor, spread out in heaps on tables, piled to the ceiling between the windows. Shopping here always brought to mind the scene from Fellowship of the Ring, Gandalf digging through scrolls at Minis Tirith.

               “Isn’t it wonderful?” she asked, voice dreamy, as she floated down an aisle and passed a finger along the spines of the books.

               Ronnie followed a few steps behind. “It smells like–”

               “Heaven?”

               “Old people, I was gonna say.” He made a laughing sound in his throat. “You really do love books, don’t you?”

               She sighed to herself. Once upon a time, she hadn’t ever had to explain that to her man. Once upon a time, she’d been stupid. 

Here's a non-shocking confession: I love words. I love when a book has an enthralling or thrilling plot, sure, but I want that to be accompanied by an author's obvious, uncontainable love of words and the play of language. I grew up reading in the nineties, when books of all genres were lush and fully-fleshed, and I don't ever mind - in fact I prefer - stopping to smell the roses. Or, in this case, the old books. The hottest, trendiest books of the last ten years do not jive with my personal stylistic preferences, and it's one of the reasons there's been such an attempt to trash my work as "unedited" by a subset of GR control freaks. 

It is edited, it's just not written to trend. I'm writing for the word lovers out there, and, as such, I get a little indulgent. Ava's moment here is not only reflective of that, but also my statement on the issue.