Disclaimer: Sadly, I don't own Hollow Kingdom.

A/N: Hello again everyone! So, we have about two chapters more to go. I want to apologize for how bad this story is. To be honest, it jumped around so much and I've been a terrible author. And I apologize. This is not really a story that I take much pride in. I love it, and it's been a long journey. But, it's not well-written, it's lazy and I'm sorry for that. Please forgive me. Here's the next chapter.

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Midnight's Moon

Chapter Twenty-one: Metamorphosis

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Imogen was silent. She peeked around the corner, her gaze landing on the palace of London. She'd been here once before, when she was very young. She had been here with her father.

She remembered how he held her hand when they walked up the steps, their heels clicking loudly and satisfyingly on the marble. She could still hear the sound of his pleasant laughter and remembered the exact shade of green his eyes had been.

Oh how she missed him.

Her mind shifted to sadder memories, her mother sobbing, the sullen funeral and waking up the morning after, feeling like the world was empty and that nothing would ever be the same. She felt so empty.

And now, as she reached the doors, she faced the same fate. Would she become empty once more? Would she loose the most important man in her life?

She let one small tear drip down her cheek, before walking in with her head held high.

At that moment, something extraordinary happened. Imogen was transformed. Not physically, but emotionally, mentally.

The girl Imogen, the afraid, unsure Imogen, faded away, like the shedding of skin. The creature that appeared was much different. This was Imogen the queen. She was regal, elegant and confident.

As radiant as the sun, Imogen walked down the halls of the palace. Her eyes were set, determined.

She would save the goblins, if not for herself, if not for Marak, then for her people, who deserved to survive.

&.&.&.&.&.&.

King Septimus's smile faded. "You two?!" His ringed fingers pointed, shaking in outrage at the sight he saw before him: those bratty twins from his tribe. He'd never liked those two. The girl was too much of a know-it-all and the boy was too determined, a threat. He turned to Paul. "Why did you bring them here?"

Paul bowed low. "They requested to see you, my lord. I thought it was the only proper thing to do…"

"We're not interested being 'proper!'" the king yelled, slamming his fist on the arm rest of his throne.

"My apologies, my liege," the mortal bowed.

King' Septimus's anger was not to be assuaged. "Your apologies mean nothing to me."

Paul may have seemed collected, but he was shaking very slightly. Something inside of him knew that everything was bent on him playing this part, for however long and to whatever extent.

"Because of your insolence," the king cried out, "he dies."

His finger pointed to a man that Paul hadn't noticed before. Or, rather, a monster. He had dark, wet hair and he was shirtless. His arm had fur swirling up it oddly and his arms were drawn back, tied around a large pillar that hung on his shoulders.

Although, the king's face was becoming fiercer by the second and Paul's uncertainty was growing greater and greater. Perhaps, he thought, I shouldn't have gotten involved in something that's not my business.

You've been doing a lot of that lately, haven't you? A voice in his head smirked a little.

Before he had time to process any truth in this, the doors flew open and-low and behold- Imogen walked in.

"Who in the blazes are you?!" the king would explode soon, Paul knew.

She held her head high with a quiet confidence that Paul had never seen in her before. "My name is Imogen. I am the queen of the Goblins. I am here to receive my husband."

The king sat back, his anger turning quickly into amusement. "Receive him? He's not being given, I'm afraid."

The queen was not to be deterred. "But you will."

He sat back and crossed his arms. "And why, may I ask, do you think that?"

Her lips curled into a clever smile, one that Paul didn't recognize; it made him doubt if this was even Imogen at all. "I believe I have something you want."

He rubbed his chin, one eyebrow popping up. "Go on."

"I have come on contact with the two queens of old. I am willing to trade their services, for my husband," her face held no lies, though there was a certain tint of grimness to it.

King Septimus froze. "You…know of the queens? You have acquired their souls?"

Imogen nodded. "Any way you look at it, you win."

He grinned. He knew, this, of course. And was pleased that she knew his dominance. "And how can you prove this?" he asked, more than convinced but not wanting to seem so.

She looked him square in the eyes. "I can't. You just have to trust me."

He stared. Her gaze was firm and confident. But besides that, her eyes had changed hue. From their normal deep blue, to a deep red, and then to a purple before reverting back.

Had the unfortunate elven king taken time to gaze at his prisoner, he might've seen several emotions flash through his face: tormented, confused, pleased and then sliding back into a blank stare.

Marak knew two things. And that second thing was bursting through the doors that moment.

A group of ragtag elves entered the room. Among them, was Helena. She was more hauntingly beautiful than Marak remembered. He still remembered her tortured expression when he was forced out of the hut and away by a group of hooded elves.

But her expression was set as she hid among them. A man, in the front, took the lead. "We have come to reclaim the throne."

King Septimus laughed. "There is nothing you can do now. I am king over all London. I have mass armies at my command. Do you think a group of inferior misfits can stop me?"

Helena was suddenly in the front of the group. "No. But I can."

Her eyes, too, changed hue.

Suddenly, King Septimus's eyes grew wide. He knew the secret too.