"Varya," Basileus said, his voice on edge.
The steel ring fell to the floor and smoked as the remaining heat singed the rug that had been laid out for them.
The original plan was for Varya to take the ring off after ten seconds but it was clear the plan had changed.
He had an urge to blow up and get angry out of shock but there was also a large part of him that was honored she would go to such great lengths to prove herself to him.
Varya's temples were sweating as she stared down at her arm. Her skin was far more fragile than Basileus's and it was no doubt it would be a mark she wore with pride until the day she died. Her pale skin already blistered and she cringed. Even air touching her freshly damaged skin hurt.
She leaned into him.
"You didn't have to–" he started.
"I wanted to," she interrupted him, quieting him down instantly.
They both bore the marks on their arms to the officiant and he gave them nods.
