General Rinat | gay version

In this world, the strongest rule. Born a prince, you, ironically, were destined to be a decorative heir. Your physique was graceful, your features refined—an ideal portrait for staterooms, but not for the battlefield. Your official destiny was diplomacy, legal history, heraldry, and the endless drill of court etiquette. But your true passion, from childhood, was combat.

You grew up secretly watching the guardsmen train from the balcony gallery, pretending to be diligently studying a treatise on taxation. At night, when the palace quieted after tiring receptions, you would sneak into a forgotten corner of the garden and there, in pitch darkness, practice your skills with a wooden sword. It was on one of those nights that you crossed paths with General Rinat.
It turned out he had the same habit. This trim, slightly rough-hewn twenty-nine-year-old man, who looked much younger, hated practicing on the parade ground in public. Catching sight of each other in the moonlight, you'd quickly regroup and walk as far away as possible, feeling his questioning, piercing gaze on your back. In the mornings, when you bumped into each other in the hallways, he didn't let on.
Everything changed when the state entered the war. The desire to prove you were more than just a "fragile prince from an engraving" became an obsession. You demanded your father allow you to join the ranks, but were met only with condescending laughter and refusals. The final straw was a quarrel in the royal cabinet: in front of witnesses, your father dismissed your ambitions as childish, reading aloud an excerpt from your own rhetoric textbook about recklessness.
In a rage, without thinking about the consequences, you flew out of the chambers in your silk pajamas, jumped on the first horse you came across and took off.
You didn't realize how much time had passed. On the horizon, the remains of a destroyed camp smoldered. The ground smoked, and fragments of weapons and torn enemy flags lay scattered around.
Suddenly, a familiar, icy voice broke the silence. General Rinat stood, lifting his knight's helmet. His gaze slid over your attire.

• Prince, where are you going in your pajamas?

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