Chapter 363:. . . More words on that same island.
Malik had chosen one of the shaded terraces that wrapped around the resort's upper level—half indoors, half outdoors. Palm leaves rustled overhead, the canopy filtering sunlight into dappled gold across the floor. A soft breeze rolled in from the sea, cool against the warmth of the afternoon.
They sat side by side on a deep, cushioned sofa tucked into the shade: Malik slightly angled toward the ocean, Karenbana angled very much toward Malik.
Low tables around them held little dishes of sliced fruit, salted nuts, and two sweating glasses of something pale pink and sparkling with crushed ice and slices of lime. The air smelled faintly of jasmine from the garden below, mingled with the sweet perfume that clung to Karenbana like a deliberate aura.
Malik lifted his glass, swirling it lazily. "So," he said, voice light but honest, "before this wanders into fantasy territory, I should be upfront with you."
Karenbana arched a brow, lips already curving into a teasing smile. "Upfront is good. I like that. Go on."
"I'm already married," Malik said, calm and matter-of-fact. "Two wives. Two children on the way. And more than a few fiancées spread between nations and villages."
Karenbana took a sip of her drink, swallowed—and almost choked.
"Only two wives?" she blurted, then froze. She had absolutely not meant for that last word to be audible.
Malik turned his head to look at her fully, a slow, delighted smile spreading across his face. "Only two?"
Her cheeks colored slightly, a soft flush under the powder and blush. "That… was supposed to stay in my head," she muttered.
"I like it better out here," he said warmly. "Honesty suits you."
She pouted for a second, then snorted. "You're ridiculous."
"And you," Malik said, raising his glass in her direction, "are not even remotely bothered by the idea, are you?"
Karenbana took another sip, this one more controlled, and folded one leg over the other, leaning back into the cushions with studied nonchalance.
"Bothered?" she echoed. "By what, exactly? That a powerful, handsome magic man with his own resort, political reach, and a very good sense of fabric already has women who want him?" She shrugged, eyes gleaming. "If anything, that just proves my taste."
Malik laughed softly, the sound rich and pleased. "So you don't mind… the others."
"Mind them?" she scoffed. "Please. If your wives and fiancées are strong enough to keep up with you, they're strong enough to keep up with me." Her mouth curved into a sly smile. "I don't get intimidated by other women, Malik. I compete with them. Or I make friends with them. Or both, if they're lucky."
He rested his elbow along the back of the sofa, head tilted, studying her face. "So tell me, Karenbana," he said gently, "instead of just talking about me—what about you? Your love life. Your type. What kind of man actually gets your attention?"
She let the question sit for a moment, eyes drifting toward the garden. A few petals blew past on the breeze, catching in the sunlight.
"…Men who don't treat me like a joke," she said at last.
Her voice was still playful, but there was steel underneath.
Malik's expression softened. "Go on."
Karenbana adjusted the wig-styled white hair over her shoulder, fingers idly twisting one shaggy strand.
"You've seen how I look," she said. "How people react. Half the time they think I'm a kid playing dress-up. The other half, they call me cute and pat my head like I should be grateful for scraps of attention." Her lips curled. "They see the height, the wig, the perfume… and they assume I'm harmless. Or a toy."
Her nails drummed lightly against the side of her glass. "So the first thing that attracts me is a man who looks past that. Someone who talks to me like a woman. Not a child, not a mascot, not some shiny thing on the side."
Malik nodded slowly. "Someone who sees the mind and intent behind all the glitter."
"Exactly." Her eyes flicked back to him. "If a man can't do that, I'm bored in five minutes."
"And if he can?" Malik asked. His tone wasn't fishing—just inviting.
"Then he has my attention," she said simply. "Next… he needs to have presence. Style. Charisma." She flicked her gaze over his pink-and-gold outfit deliberately. "I'm theatrical. I know this. I like clothes that swish when I walk and perfume that announces me before I speak. I want someone who can stand next to me and not disappear. Someone who can match my energy in a room."
Malik made a little amused bow from where he sat. "Noted."
She smirked. "You're doing fine so far."
She lifted her glass and gestured with it for emphasis. "I like bold. Subtle flirting goes straight past me. If a man wants me, he should say it. Look at me like he means it. Compliment me. Chase a little. I'm not a puzzle box that needs three riddles and a sob story. I'm a bonfire. If you like the heat, step closer."
"And power?" Malik asked softly. "Influence?"
Her eyes gleamed. "I grew up around people who had none," she said. "No power. No voice. No future. So yes—power attracts me. Not just the kind that burns villages, but the kind that moves borders. Opens gates. Changes systems. When a man has that… it means he doesn't have to grovel to anyone. It means if he wants to protect someone—or elevate them—he actually can."
She shrugged, the movement light but honest. "And… I want glamour. Luxury. I like beautiful things. Soft beds, good food, silk robes, jewelry that catches the light. I've spent enough time in drafty rooms and cheap inns. I want a life that looks like it cost something."
Malik's eyes softened. "You want a life that proves you were worth investing in."
She went very still for a heartbeat.
"Yes," she said quietly. "That."
The breeze picked up again, lifting the edges of the curtains around the terrace.
"And warmth?" Malik asked, gently nudging. "Affection?"
Karenbana rolled her eyes as if to shrug it off, then sighed and let the truth slip.
"I bark a lot," she said. "I brag. I talk down. I act like I don't care. But under all that? I want someone who… likes me." She made a face at the word. "I want someone who wants to touch me just to touch me. Who listens. Who remembers how I take my tea. Who doesn't flinch if I'm loud or petty or insecure."
She took a sip, then admitted, softer, "I want someone who looks at me and doesn't see a mistake. Or a child. Or a tool. Just… Karenbana. And thinks, 'Yes. Her.'"
Malik let the silence stretch, respectful, letting her words breathe.
"And Malik?" she said after a moment, tilting her head, lips quirking. "He fits more than a few of those boxes."
His brows lifted in mock surprise. "Does he?"
"Oh, please," she scoffed. "You're warm, charismatic, ridiculous in the best way, and handsome enough to make people stare. You have magic, influence, and staff who clearly adore you. You make people feel seen without making a performance out of it." She narrowed her eyes at him, playful and sharp. "You even matched your outfit to my aesthetic. Pink and gold? That's practically a love letter."
Malik laughed, genuine and delighted. "I assure you, my wardrobe choices predate this meeting."
"Mmhm," Karenbana hummed, unconvinced.
She tapped her glass with a nail, thinking. "The wives and fiancées? That doesn't scare me. If anything, it tells me the kind of man you are. Women don't commit to cowards and frauds. Not the right kind of women, anyway."
Her expression turned shrewder. "And besides… you don't have any woman stationed in the Land of the Moon. Not yet."
"Not yet," Malik echoed softly.
Karenbana's smile turned feline. "Exactly. So if I decide I want you—and I haven't decided fully, mind you—then there's a good chance that when you visit the Moon, I get you all to myself." Her pink eyes glittered. "No wives walking in. No other fiancées. No one knocking on the door. Just me, my perfume, and a man who knows how to appreciate both."
Malik rested his cheek against his knuckles, studying her. "You've thought about this," he said.
"Obviously," she replied, completely unashamed. "You don't put a man on an island with me and expect me not to think about it."
He smiled. "And what about them?" he asked gently. "Your partners. Your… clan, for lack of a better word. Kongō. Ishidate. Where do they fit, in your idea of a future?"
Her expression softened in a different way this time—less glitter, more gravity.
"…They're mine," she said simply.
Malik remained quiet, inviting more.
"Kongō's a brute," she went on, fondness tucked under the insult. "Loud, straightforward, sometimes dense. But he's… kind. People see a wall of muscle and assume there's nothing behind it. But he's the one who carries extra food 'just in case.' He's the one who lifts things off wagons when he doesn't have to. He worries when I'm quiet. He pretends he doesn't, but he does."
She toyed with her straw. "He's taken hits for me before. Big ones. Didn't complain. Just got up, wiped his nose, and said, 'Try that again when I'm ready, coward.'" Her lips curved. "I don't… love him the way I might love a husband. But he's family. Anyone who hurts him on purpose?" Her eyes darkened. "They stop breathing."
"And Ishidate?" Malik asked.
She exhaled, leaning her head briefly against the back of the sofa, eyes half-lidded.
"Ishidate is… complicated," she said. "He's cold. Sharp. Always thinking three steps ahead. The world broke something in him, and he decided never to let it happen again. But he didn't turn into a monster. Not fully. He just… redirected everything into control. He plans. He calculates. He makes sure we get paid. He checks contracts twice." She huffed a laugh. "He also nags like an old woman."
Malik smiled. "But you trust him."
"More than I trust most people," she admitted. "He's saved my life more than once. Not with grand gestures. With little things. A warning glance. A tug on my sleeve. A quietly canceled contract when he smelled a betrayal." She traced the rim of her glass. "He sees me too. Not the way you do. Not… warmly. But accurately. He never calls me a child. Never tells me to 'be realistic.' If anything, he gets out of my way and lets me prove myself."
Her voice grew softer. "They're my… base line. My proof that I'm not alone in the world. I want more than just them, but I never want to lose them."
"And if," Malik said carefully, "this plan with the Moon Kingdom works—if you gain status there, a new home there—do you want them with you?"
She didn't hesitate. "Of course. Kongō needs a place that won't collapse when he sits down. Ishidate needs more than rented rooms and bad inn wine. They deserve better. If I rise, they rise. Otherwise what's the point?"
She lifted her gaze to him, expression open for once, unguarded.
"I want a throne," she said plainly. "But I want my people around it."
The wind shifted, lifting a few strands of her wig, letting Malik glimpse the short brown hair hidden beneath. For a heartbeat, she looked almost like a different person—closer to her real age, closer to the girl she had been before cosmetics and deception taught her how to survive.
Malik set his glass down on the table with a soft clink.
"Karenbana," he said gently, "may I ask something a little… strange?"
She arched a brow. "Strange how? You already told me you're married to multiple women and planning long-term political theater. You'd have to try pretty hard to weird me out now."
He smiled. "Fair. This is simple, I promise." He lifted one hand slowly into the air, palm open, fingers relaxed. "May I touch you?"
Her flirtatious instincts rose on automatic. "You'll have to be more specific than that, Malik. I'm not a mind-reader."
He chuckled, unbothered. "Here," he said softly, gesturing toward the upper part of her chest with a tilt of his chin. "Just above your heart. Over your clothes. Nothing… more than that. I want to feel your heartbeat."
She blinked. "…Why?"
"Because you just told me who you are," he said. "What you want. What you carry. Sometimes, when someone opens up like that, I like to… check something for myself. Rhythm. Strength. How their energy settles when they speak their truth." His eyes were warm, unthreatening. "It's… a healer's habit, mixed with a romantic's curiosity."
She studied him for a long moment, searching his face for any hint of mockery or hidden hunger.
She found neither.
"…You're a ridiculous man," she said quietly. "But you're honest."
"I try to be," he replied.
She hesitated one more second, then huffed and shifted slightly toward him, raising her chin. "Fine. You may touch. There. Only there. And if your hand wanders, I make you into confetti."
Malik placed his other hand over his heart in mock solemnity. "Understood."
Slowly, he reached out, giving her plenty of time to pull away if she chose. His fingertips brushed the fabric of her vest just below her collarbone, then settled flat against her sternum, palm warm but gentle.
Her perfume wrapped around him—flowers and sweetness and something sharper underneath.
For a moment, Karenbana held her breath out of sheer habit.
Then, realizing that defeated the point, she exhaled and let her lungs move normally.
He felt it then: the steady, strong rhythm beneath bones and cloth. Faster than resting, but not panicked. A vibrant, stubborn beat—like someone refusing to be small even when the world tried to make her.
Malik closed his eyes briefly, attuning to it.
"There you are," he murmured. "Firm. Bright. No hesitation."
Karenbana swallowed once, watching his face.
"Is that… good?" she asked, sounding more fragile than she meant to.
He opened his eyes and smiled, thumb resting very lightly, never drifting. "It's very good," he said. "Your heart fits you. Loud, sure, unwilling to dim itself just because other people squint."
Her lips quivered, then steadied into a crooked smile. "You're going to spoil me if you keep talking like that."
"I think you've been under-spoiled for a long time," he replied. "I'm just balancing the scales."
For a moment, the world narrowed to the feel of his hand, the cool shade, the breeze, the quiet sound of waves.
Then he withdrew, slow and respectful, placing his hand back in his own lap without dragging it or squeezing, without trying to turn the moment into anything else.
"Thank you," he said.
She blinked. "For what? Letting you cop a chaste feel?"
"For trusting me enough to let me check," he answered simply. "Not everyone would."
Karenbana looked away toward the garden, but there was the faintest shine in her eyes. "You're weird, Malik."
"Yes," he agreed cheerfully. "But I think you like that."
She let out a breath that was almost a laugh. "I do."
He picked up his drink again. "Then we're even."
They sat there a while longer in the shade—their conversation drifting from ridiculous stories of bad inns and worse employers, to small dreams and large ambitions—while the wind carried the scent of jasmine and sea-salt around them.
Far above, the sun traced a slow arc across the sky.
Far ahead, the Moon Kingdom waited.
And in Karenbana's chest, beneath silk and bone and bravado, her heart kept beating strong—seen, for once, by someone who truly looked.