Our Souls Intertwined

This is the Fate You've Carved on Me

Cassandra meets Ian because her father is a rather paranoid man.

King Jacob Rothschild of Elkwood hires four personal guards between shots of vodka - one for each his children, he says. His voice is flush and slurred, but the men do what they're told anyways, shuffling their feet and exchanging uneasy glances between themselves.

Cassandra's sister Fiona, and the eldest of the Rothschild siblings, receives a bodyguard named Jimmy, who is all white teeth and striking blue eyes. She rolls her eyes when he brings her coffee and glazed donuts, but Cassandra knows the way she watches him when he's not looking.

Nathan is second-eldest. His guard is a large, surly man with black aviators and long, dirty blonde hair that ties into a ponytail down his back. His name is Kevin. "Kev," He tells them to call him.

Caleb is next, and his guard is a beautiful Russian woman named Svetlana. She looks like just another pretty face - you know, high cheekbones, perfect lips, flowing hair, the girl that turns heads when she walks into a room. But the Rothschild children will never forget the stone cold look in her eyes when she shot six men through the heart that time the mansion was attacked.

And finally, Cassandra. Well, Cassandra gets Ian.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Ian is tall, nearly six feet, topped with a mop of red hair and a face splattered with freckles. When he's not guarding the outside of her door or following her wherever she goes, he spends most of his time playing video games, eating candy bars, and smiling at Cassandra with just the corners of his lips turned up. She can't figure him out and it pisses her off, to say the least. She pleads to her father that she doesn't need anybody looking out for her, that she grew up in this family learning how to fight. By the eighth time, Kev doesn't even let her through the door, patting her shoulder softly with an apologetic shrug.

"Sorry, Princess Cassandra. The King is handling noble affairs at the moment." He says, even though they both know he's lying. Cassandra turns around in frustration in time to see Ian grinning around a mouthful of Snickers.

This is the first time Cassandra punches him in the face.

It isn't the last.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Jacob Rothschild is a mess of bloodshot eyes and slurred speech. He inherited the throne from his brother, who had been assassinated by a group of unhappy politicians. It's a miracle that Jacob hasn't reached the same fate, because the king would much rather drink expensive whiskey than tend to Elkwood's currently pressing internal matters. The economy is slowly dipping. Rebels have been starting riots throughout the kingdom. There is even gossip of overthrowing the royal family. He assigns bodyguards to the children, but Jacob first laughs when he catches wind of the rumor.

"They're just a population of ungrateful pricks," He declares after a long drink of bourbon. "The Rothschilds are the only thing that has kept this nation together." And it's true - generations ago, the Rothschilds brought Elkwood out of bloody war and political unrest, but under Jacob's rule, history seems to be repeating itself. Now, since the king refuses to administer himself to the country's problems, Elkwood's issues are managed by Fiona, Nathan, and small group called the Council of Advisors.

Cassandra doesn't get involved. She hates the exhausted look in her brother and sister's eyes, but she's scared of it too. She doesn't want to look like that, the weight of an entire kingdom pressing on your shoulders, not ever. She's afraid of the responsibility, of being tied down.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Ian only tells her what she needs to know. Where to go, who to be with, and how much time she's allowed to have in a certain place. Cassandra knows that somehow she's being protected, but she doesn't have to like it. She doesn't have to like the way Ian is suddenly in charge of her life. She doesn't have to like the way he stands close enough to her that she can feel his breath on the back of her neck. She doesn't have to like the way Ian grips his fingers tightly into her arm to shield her from the cameras or to remind her that she's been in one area for too long.