Please Grant Me a Glorious Regret [Novel] Chapter 4

Walking toward her under the moonlight, the man looked like a painting.

His straight features gleamed subtly in the pale light, giving him the terrifying beauty of a finely crafted blade.

She knew now wasn't the time to lose herself, yet he was so breathtakingly handsome that she couldn't help being spellbound.

"I didn't realize you were a young lady who enjoyed illicit rendezvous."

The icy tone snapped Arte back to her senses with a shiver.

Dimion made no effort to conceal his displeasure at being lured here.

Arte clenched her fists tightly, fighting not to be crushed under the overwhelming pressure radiating from him.

Even standing completely still, he exerted an aura that could intimidate anyone.

"I don't. I know it's a signal used for an illicit meeting, but that wasn't my intent. I needed to speak with you alone, Your Grace, and could think of no other way. I apologize if I offended you."

Summoning every ounce of effort to sound calm and polite, she felt the oppressive atmosphere around Dimion soften just a fraction.

He was still sharp and intimidating, but it was enough to offer her a shred of courage.

"Your reason for needing to speak alone?"

"I have something to ask you."

Careful not to let her voice tremble, Arte cautiously pressed on.

"Have we… met before by any chance?"

Dimion's brow furrowed slightly at her quiet question.

He didn't answer right away, staring at Arte as if trying to comprehend why she would ask such a thing.

She didn't have the luxury of waiting in silent standoff, so she immediately explained herself to his questioning gaze.

"A few years ago, I lost my memory in a carriage accident. A specific period of my life is gone, and no matter how hard I try, I can't recall it."

"…"

"However, ever since the accident, I've had a recurring dream for years. It repeats vividly, identically… and you are in that dream, Your Grace."

At the mention of a recurring dream, Dimion's scowl deepened.

It was hardly a welcoming reaction, but an understandable one.

Arte knew well enough how absurd it must sound.

Yet the sight of that handsome face contorting in irritation carried such an impact that she found herself hastily tacking on further explanations.

"I had no idea it was you until today, Your Grace. I thought you were merely an illusion created by my subconscious. But then I met you today in person. I wondered if it might not be a simple dream, but a fragment of memory I couldn't recall…"

"What kind of dream is it? What exactly am I doing in your dream?"

At his direct question regarding the contents of the dream, Arte froze.

As the details surfaced in her mind, she instinctively averted her eyes and turned her head away.

She could never, ever speak of it aloud.

Dying would be preferable to admitting that in a dim room illuminated by a single slit of light, Dimion had his face buried between her legs.

Arte squeezed her eyes shut.

Once her mind engaged, every single sensation from the dream rushed back.

It had repeated for years, leaving her drenched between her thighs time and time again.

Simply recalling it sent a faint wave of heat pulsing through her, so having the actual man standing in front of her was driving her mad.

She knew exactly how those cold eyes softened, how warm those lips felt when murmuring terse replies, and how impossibly soft those raven strands gleamed under the moonlight.

Thank goodness it was late at night.

Had they met in broad daylight, her flushed cheeks would have been exposed beyond doubt.

"Miss Tian?"

When she remained silent with her eyes averted, Dimion called out again.

Arte fought with all her might to cool the heat spreading through her body.

Facing him while blushing red was the last thing she wanted.

"We have never met."

Without waiting for her answer, Dimion delivered his verdict first.

He denied any connection between them with uncompromising firmness.

As her foundational assumption began to crumble, Arte's eyes quivered.

Never met?

She couldn't believe it.

"But earlier when we were lined up, you recognized me…"

"It was a mistake. You resembled someone I knew. I apologized for it already. Didn't you hear me?"

"Are you certain it was just a mistake?"

Dimion frowned slightly at her persistent questioning, but Arte pressed on regardless.

"In that dream, you called me "Ria". The beginning of the name was always muffled, and I wondered what it was. But today, the moment you saw me, you called me "Feria"."

Dimion claimed it was a mistake, but Arte refused to believe it.

The odds of another woman existing with silver hair and golden eyes were slim to none.

She had no way of knowing what had gotten twisted during that lost year of her memories, but she couldn't shake the conviction that Feria was, in fact, herself.

"Because of an accident, I have no memory of one full year. I've tried relentlessly to recover it, to no avail. So I don't know exactly what happened between us…"

"So. You are saying you are Feria? That I didn't mistake you for someone else, but that you are Feria herself?"

Dimion cut her off sharply, stepping closer.

"…Yes."

Hard as she had tried to conceal her trembling voice in front of him, Arte could no longer hide the subtle quivering.

Before a voice so deep it resonated like a rumble and a gaze so sharp it felt fierce, all her efforts proved futile.

Arte squeezed her shaking hands tightly into fists to hide them and looked at Dimion, completely bewildered as to which of her words had infuriated him so deeply.

"Have you never heard the name Feria before?"

Arte nodded quietly in affirmation.

When she first entertained the thought that it might be a memory rather than a dream, Arte had tried to piece together the name Lia.

But there were far too many names that ended in "Lia": Cordelia, Yulia, Julia, Allia, Valia, Emilia, Cecilia, and so on.

She had given up, realizing it would take a lifetime to list them all, and Phelia hadn't even been on that list.

It was a name she was hearing for the first time in her life, she could swear on it.

"Phelia Darton. You don't know it?"

An unfamiliar name was appended with a familiar noble house.

Though not quite on par with Dimion's House of Rocata, the Ducal House of Darton was nonetheless a prestigious family known throughout most of the Empire.

Yet, while the family's renown was familiar, the name Phelia remained completely foreign, a person Arte knew nothing about.

"I don't know it. I've never heard it before. I know of the Darton family, but I don't know anyone named Phelia Darton."

It was the absolute, unadulterated truth.

Arte spoke firmly, her golden eyes blazing, hoping Dimion would clearly read that her answer was unscripted and sincere.

Staring into those golden eyes that shone bright even in the dark of night, Dimion eventually burst into a scoff.

His dry laugh dripped with absurdity.

"I thought I had seen every desperate trick women play to claim the vacant spot beside me."

But even that bitter laugh lasted only a fraction of a second.

The amusement vanished in an instant, replaced by a freezing glare fixed upon Arte.

"It's certainly novel. You're the first woman to approach me claiming not to know who Phelia is."

Standing on the edge between fury and contempt, Dimion glared down at her.

"I don't know how far you've schemed this out, but stop right here. Out of respect for the comradeship I share with your brother and the hospitality I received tonight as a guest, I'll pretend this conversation never happened."

It was a warning she couldn't, and shouldn't, ignore.

It was cold and terrifying enough to instantly make her understand why he was called the Iron-Blooded Rocata, and why the mere rumor of his unit's arrival shattered enemy morale.

Yet Arte's longing to recover her lost memories was equally immense.

Clutching the fabric of her dress tight, she summoned every drop of courage left.

"If I am not Phelia, then who is Phelia Darton? Who is she for you to be so certain? If she is someone else, then why in my dream…"

Dimion, who had turned to leave, pivoted back and strode right up to Arte, stopping with barely a fist's breath of space between them.

"I don't give a damn about your nonsense regarding your dreams."

The rage visibly reaching its breaking point threatened to consume Arte entirely.

"Phelia Darton was my lover. My dead lover, whose corpse I found with my own eyes, and whose cold flesh I felt with my own hands."

The moment the truth was laid bare, Arte froze, rendered completely speechless.

No answer, no explanation could possibly form on her tongue.

As if she were no longer worth another word, as if even having her in his sight was repulsive, Dimion turned away with merciless coldness.

Only when he had vanished completely from her view did Arte finally release her held breath and collapse onto the ground.