I pressed my heel to my forehead, like that would just magically erase my throbbing headache, but it really didn't do anything. Except for making me drop the pile of paperwork that I had somehow forgotten I was carrying. Heaving out a sigh, I snapped my fingers at one of the guards who now watched me every single second of the every single day. The smaller one rushed to pick the up, shuffling them into an untidy pile before handing them to me with bow. 

I let out another sigh. 

"Is something wrong, Prince?" The taller one ventured, and I whirled around, suddenly loosing it. 

"Yes, obviously. Something is wrong. Actually, a lot of things are, none of which do I want to explain to a guard. I'm going to my bed chamber. Pick these up and deliver them to the scribe. Both of you. Now," I snapped, dropping the stack onto the stone floor with a loud, muffled thud, and then strode away, head high, leaving the two confused guards behind in the hall.

I could hear the castle echoing with my footsteps, with the footsteps of the crown prince, who will be King in a day, as they should. I am now the most important figure, more influential person in the kingdom. But I didn't feel like being the most influential person in the kingdom. I felt like being the prince, who did what he wanted, when he wanted. It was how life should be, but now it would be filled with paperwork and speeches and negotiations and state dinners. 

I didn't want this, but somehow I got dropped on me.

I thought back. To meeting the assassin, with the feline eyes and the sharpest, rudest tongue that had ever been directed at me, and then seeing him again. I pride myself on knowing when someone is lying, and when they're faking. Something told me, even if I didn't want it to be true, that he wasn't the killer. But if he wasn't, what was he doing in the castle? 

I sighed, a gusty release of air, and brushed past the guards who stood at my door. They bowed quickly as I came up, my pace auick, and opened the doors for me to enter. Inside, I knew something was wrong. The furniture was in the middle of bring packed up, carefully, delicately, and the ornaments throughout the main room were gone. People moved about the room, carrying things and bowing to me as I stood there, open mouthed. 

Regaining my composure, I unfroze at the door of my room and stormed over to a guy so looked like he was in charge. As I neared him he turned and bowed to me, stiffly. His uniform was pristine; no wrinkles, stains, tears, nothing. His grey beard was trimmed to a point, his hair cut military style, his grey-brown eyes flat and focused. "Yes, Prince?" He asked, his unusually deep voice suprising me.

"What are they doing?" I hissed, locking my eyes with the guy's. 

"Prince, they are taking your furniture to your new room." 

"Why?" 

"Because, Prince, since you are almost the king, it would be unfit for you to have a room for a prince. You shall move to your father's old room." The man said, his Adam's apple bobbing near his high collar. His tone was neutral, deep, utterly detached. I could feel my fury rising with each word.

"Well, Officer, I don't want my father's old rooms. I want this room," I shot back.

"Prince, this room is not fit for the king." 

"Officer, I want this room, and I will not change my mind on this issue."

The man jutted his jaw forward, and back. Forward, back. Finally, he spoke, hiding his irritation not very well, to the point that I knew he was purposefully letting me see how much this annoyed him. 

"Yes, Prince. We will move your possessions back to this room immediately." The man turned, and wi the same tone of voice he had used on me, began shouting orders to the others, making all of them halt in confused, before rushing to follow their commanders voice. At first they voiced their displeasure with mutted murmurs, but when they caught a glance of my glare, they shut up and got to work. 

Why did I want this room so much? I don't know. I just do. Maybe because the scent of my father, the smoke and strangely sweet smell of coconut, might still linger in the room. Maybe I had grown attached to this room, with the plain ceiling and the fireplace and the designs above the wide, carved wooden doors. 

Maybe I didn't want to accept me being king. Maybe that by moving into my father's old room would be the seal, the bar across me ever getting out of this. Maybe I'm too stuck in the past, but I don't care. 

You don't know what you've got 'til it's gone.

Bad grammar, but I think it fits my situation well enough. 

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Soooo sorry for the wait for this chapter, and then for all you awesome readers to find a short, tiny, embarrassingly little filler chapter that really just has Jonghyun bossing everyone around. I'm sorry.

But between the 8 stories I have going on right now (6 on AFF, two just on Google Docs), school, practice, and a social life, it's hard to update.

So, anyway, I hope you enjoyed this little chapter!!! And Soooooooooooo sorry for not saying this earlier, but THANK YOU  SO MUCH THE 3 AWESOME, AMAZING READERS WHO UPVOTED THIS STORY!!!!! I LOVE YOU!!!!!!!

Please comment, because that makes me want to update more and makes me be happy, and subscribe (and comment) if you like hits story! Thanks!