The Forbidden Love; Paradise and Hell

Chapter 3: The Interrogation

[Aurelius POV]

The Hall of Judgment was too bright.

Seven thrones. Seven Archangels. And me.

Kneeling on marble that was supposed to feel like peace.

Right now it felt like a blade.

“Seraphim Aurelius,” Seraphiel’s voice boomed. “Report.”

I kept my eyes down. Wings tucked. Perfect posture.

The golden boy. The one who never made mistakes.

“The Ninth Prince was eliminated at the border, my Lord,” I lied.

The words tasted like ash.

A pause. Too long.

“Then why,” said Raguel, “did our scouts find demonic traces leading away from the border? Alive traces.”

My heart stopped.

They checked. Of course they checked.

“Hell’s illusion magic,” I said. The lie came easier the second time. “To make us think he survived. A trick.”

“Is that so,” Michael said. He was the worst. He could see lies.

I prayed. Not to God. To whatever would listen.

Please. Please don’t let him see it.

The silence stretched.

I could feel sweat on my neck. Under the armor.

They’d smell it. They’d know.

“Stand,” Seraphiel commanded.

I stood.

“Look at me, Aurelius.”

I did. His eyes were like suns. They burned.

He was searching me. For doubt. For heresy. For weakness.

For the memory of red eyes and blood on my hands.

“Your record is flawless,” he said finally. “24 years. Zero failures.”

“Yes, my Lord.”

“So we will give you the benefit of the doubt.”

Relief hit me so hard my knees almost buckled.

“But,” he continued. “You will be watched. Closely.”

“Understood.”

“You are dismissed. And Aurelius?”

“Yes?”

“Next time, bring proof.”

Proof. As in a body. As in a head.

I bowed and walked out before they could see my hands shaking.

The second I was out of the Hall, Gabriel caught my arm.

“Hey.” Soft. Concerned. “You okay? You look pale.”

Gabriel was my friend. My only friend.

He didn’t deserve lies too.

“I’m fine,” I said. “Just tired.”

“You hesitated,” he said. Quiet. “Up there. I saw.”

I pulled my arm away. “Don’t.”

“Aurelius—”

“I said I’m fine.”

I walked away fast. Down the white halls. Past the choirs.

Everyone smiling. Everyone singing.

And me with a demon’s blood under my fingernails.

I should confess.

I should turn myself in.

I should—

Angel boy.

His voice in my head. Amused. In pain.

I clenched my fists.

I’m not thinking about him.

I’m not.

That night

I couldn’t sleep.

The border was quiet. Too quiet.

My orders said to stay in Paradise for 3 days. "Cooling off period."

So why was I at the border again?

“Stupid,” I whispered to myself. “Stupid, stupid—”

The ash was still there. The broken pillar.

And sitting in the exact same spot as before was him.

Azrael.

Bandaged. Leaning against the rock. Eating an apple.

Like he’d been waiting.

He looked up. Saw me.

And grinned.

“Well, well,” he said, taking a bite. “If it isn’t Heaven’s favorite liar.”

I drew my sword.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

“Neither should you,” he said. “So I guess we’re both screwed.”

The sword in my hand shook.

Not from fear.

From the fact that I was relieved he was alive.

“Why are you here?” I asked.

“Could ask you the same thing, golden boy.” He tossed the apple core aside. “Orders. Same as you, probably. Scout the border. Make sure the other guy’s dead.”

He looked me up and down. “Looks like neither of us did our job.”

I should attack.

I should end this now before someone sees us.

Before I do something worse.

Instead I sheathed my sword.

“Don’t call me that.”

“Golden boy?” He stood. Wobbled a little. Still hurt. “What should I call you then? Aurelius?”

My name. On his tongue. Again.

“...Aurelius,” I said.

He smiled. Real this time. Not mocking.

“Aurelius,” he repeated. Like he was testing it. “Mine’s Azrael.”

“I know.”

“Yeah. Thought you might.”

We stared at each other.

Two soldiers. Two enemies.

In the middle of nowhere.

“I’m not going to kill you,” I said. The truth, finally.

“I know,” he said. “I’m not going to kill you either.”

Another lie. Or maybe not.

“I should go,” I said.

“Yeah,” he said. “You should.”

Neither of us moved.

Finally, I turned. Took one step.

“Aurelius.”

I stopped.

“Next time you bandage me,” he said, “use something that doesn’t burn.”

I didn’t turn around.

But I could feel myself smiling.

A small, traitorous, heretical smile.

“Next time,” I said, “don’t get shot.”

And I flew.

Behind me, I heard him laugh.

I’m in so much trouble.