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When Tony realizes that the princess from those hot and alluring lands sent him a lamp, he thinks his father will kill him. Just like that — take and kill his own son who couldn’t win the favour of an Arab princess. How hard could it be, after all? But the princess didn’t need him. His charm, along with his honey-coloured skin, made no impression on her. That wasn’t the issue — Tony could handle rejection. Yet his father’s fiery determination to bring Arab royal blood into their family and claim a sizable piece of the desert to modernize left no room for understanding.
A lamp sent in response to love letters meant only one thing in Arab countries: “no.” Short, precise, and succinct — just like this golden lamp with truly royal diamonds adorning its sides. As if to say, “Take this lamp, and let its light be a signpost, let it guide you toward happiness, love, and all good things. Farewell.” It was elegant and far more comforting than a plain rejection, though it still wouldn’t have mattered much to Tony. He didn’t love the beautiful princess — neither her pitch-black hair nor her green eyes or sharp cheekbones. He simply didn’t love her. The girl wasn’t foolish and understood perfectly well that the purpose of the courtship wasn’t rooted in Tony being secretly in love with her for as long as he could remember, as the affectionate and tearful letters claimed, but rather in the fact that Stark Senior had decreed it.
Tony leans back onto the blanket, anxiously fidgeting with the expensive fabric in his hands — not that he feared his father outright, but still, something deep within his subconscious gnawed at him, demanding unquestioning obedience. For a long time, Tony couldn’t say no to his father. He wasn’t sure he ever could.
So, he simply rolls onto his side and stares at the open, ornate box from which the lamp peeks out. He edges closer and, with a bitter taste in his mouth, picks it up, wondering what his father will do when he finds out that he — the sole heir to a small but proud kingdom — failed to charm the princess. He pondered why he allowed himself to fear his father so much and how he had come to a point where the image of a boastful playboy clung so tightly to him, despite it being far from who he truly was — just a foolish, scared boy.
He touched the encrusted diamonds, purer than dew drops, running his fingers over their sharp edges, so typical of warm lands. He wished he could simply stay there, in the lands of scorching sun and sands, even as an apprentice to some lowly cobbler, just to be far away and finally work with his hands, creating something. To stop wasting time on empty talk and boasting, and instead build, forge, craft, transform—
He couldn’t finish the thought because, suddenly, a stream of red-and-blue smoke burst out of the lamp’s spout. Tony immediately dropped it, watching in delayed horror as the lamp rolled across the room, scattering blue and red swirls in its wake. He felt a cold breeze caress his skin, the scent of a fresh, frosty morning hitting his nose, while faint crackles of snowflakes sounded in his ears. It was strange — to be sitting on his bed in his father’s castle and yet feel winter — cold, yet so vivid and beautiful, the kind where you’re forbidden to roll in the snow but still dive into the drifts, feeling the weight of a soaked cloak on your shoulders and the squish of water in your boots.
Tony was disoriented for only a few seconds, and when the faint glimmers, like sunlight reflecting off snow, disappeared from his eyelids, he saw what had happened.
Or rather, who had happened.
In the middle of the room stood a man — so tall it seemed the short spikes of his hair brushed the ceiling. He had broad shoulders and a bare torso, barely covered by a light blue vest embroidered with gemstones along the edges. His legs were clad in loose, flowing pants of the same colour, cinched with a heavy silver chain around his waist. His wrists and ankles were adorned with elegant wide cuffs of white gold, which, though delicate in design, unmistakably resembled shackles.
They didn’t suit him. Not his muscles, which rippled with every movement, nor his snow-like skin, his hands that seemed capable of moving mountains — those cuff-like shackles didn’t suit him. And his entire powerful, commanding presence didn’t match the gentle expression in his crystal-blue eyes.
To Tony, it felt like a dream — prohibited and strange, conjured by witches his father burned in the villages. But it wasn’t a dream.
The stranger bowed, and a smile lit up his full, rosy lips. Tony swallowed the lump in his throat — this sight proved to be far too... intriguing.
"I am your genie, sir. You may make three wishes — I can fulfill almost anything. The only exceptions are making someone fall in love, bringing the dead back to life, or granting more wishes. Beyond that, I am at your service. " He inclined his head slightly again, his piercing blue eyes never leaving Tony, who had tucked his legs up on the bed.
"A genie? What nonsense?"
"I was given to you as a gift, sir. "
Tony had heard of genies, and their existence was one of the reasons his father was so eager to become part of the Arab royal family. It was rumored that the royal treasury held thousands of lamps with genies trapped inside, ready to grant any wish. Genies weren’t ephemeral beings—they were real people, endowed with power and imprisoned in lamps. They were condemned to this fate for grave offenses—eternal servitude to others was one of the harshest punishments imaginable.
Tony pondered why that princess had given him such an invaluable gift. Lamps weren’t for sale; even on the black market, they were rare and worth more than entire herds of horses. And now, here the princess was, giving him this peculiar, fair-skinned genie who looked nothing like the dark-haired, honey-toned inhabitants of the Arab lands. Why?
"Who are you? "
"Your genie, sir. "
"Call me Tony." Stark felt a faint chill. "But who are you? Who were you? And why were you imprisoned in the lamp?"
"Does it really matter? " The white-haired man narrowed his eyes, and for a moment, the soft blue of his gaze flashed cold as steel. Tony tilted his head slightly, as though listening to the string he’d accidentally plucked. There it was, the sore spot.
"It matters to me. In the West, we don’t trade in lives. I’m uncomfortable keeping someone in a lamp, forcing them to grant my wishes — unlike my father".
"How very interesting", the genie smirked crookedly, his true nature showing through. The feigned politeness fell away like tinsel, but the gentleness remained. It was strange, as though the two traits shouldn’t work together, but somehow they did.
"My name was Steve. I was a soldier who came on a diplomatic mission to the East, straight from the North. Along with me, they sent a gift for the sultan — a large wooden chest made of beechwood, aged and perfumed to perfection, a treasure unlike any in the North. As it turned out, the chest contained the head of their envoy. I was immediately seized and thrown into the dungeons, though I had done nothing wrong — I didn’t even know about it. In retaliation for my king’s actions, I was sentenced to eternal imprisonment in a lamp. And so here I am, seventy years later, granting the whims of various nobles, some of whom wish for truly terrible things. "
"But didn’t a coup happen in the North about twenty years ago? All members of the former regime were overthrown — there’s a good king in power now!" Tony exclaimed, surprised. He knew the current king of the North. His name was James of the Barnes family, whose shield bore the emblem of a star. Wouldn’t Steve’s imprisonment have been pardoned with the change in leadership?
"So be it," Steve smiled bitterly. "Magic is an eternal contract, unchallengeable. I will remain here forever, ready to grant any wish you desire, sir." Steve bowed again and offered a polite smile that filled Tony with a sense of despair. That smile — a reconciliation with injustice — didn’t suit Steve in the slightest. Neither the bows, nor the bracelets, nor this outfit. All of it degraded him, turning him into a circus monkey on stage, dressed up and forced to perform. It was horrifying.
"I… I’m truly sorry. I swear to you. I never wanted to be given a person. I never wanted you to fulfill my wishes "
"It doesn’t matter what you wanted. What matters is what you want now. I am your servant. I don’t want to waste your precious time on emotional confessions; I want to do what I must and then rest again. So, stop pretending you don’t need wishes or that you’re so kind and compassionate. It’s nauseating."
Tony forced a weak smile at the bow that didn’t soften Steve’s cold words. There was something about this genie — something so strange it stirred both the urge to open up and the need to shut down, to hide, to keep from being understood. Tony hated feeling this way, as if he were stuck at a crossroads where every path was frightening in its own way.
"Everyone keeps trying to prove something to me, blaming me for everything. I’m bad because I don’t want to marry, I’m stupid because I don’t want to live in the kingdom, I’m disgusting because I don’t give you orders. When will you all stop deciding everything for me?! You said what matters is what I want? I never wanted a servant!" Tony leapt off the bed and began pacing the room, his voice rising in irritation. Steve stood frozen, surprised by the sudden tirade.
Everyone expected greatness from Tony — rule, leadership — and he didn’t want any of it. He didn’t know how to command or impose. He didn’t know how to lead.
"I never wanted to give orders to anyone. I didn’t want to make people angry with me, afraid of me, or uncomfortable. I’m just trying to do my best, just trying to survive, like mum told me to, to please everyone, but that’s impossible! Stop looking at me like that!" Tony shouted, abruptly halting in front of the motionless genie. He took a step forward. Then another. Until he was almost nose-to-nose with Steve, glaring fiercely into those cold blue eyes.
"I didn’t ask for any of this. I just wanted to create new mechanisms. I want to redirect rivers, build trebuchets, and improve chariots and spears — I want to create! Instead, I’m stuck here in a locked room like some damn princess in a tower, and my mind is rotting inside me," Tony stepped back and stumbled, collapsing to the floor in a clumsy conclusion to his tirade. Steve darted forward to help, but Tony pushed his hand away, slumping on the floor, leaning against the bed, and throwing his head back. His eyes burned from unshed tears, and one question echoed in his mind: why had he started spilling his heart to a genie? For what purpose — what would it change?
"I… "
"Here’s my first wish," Tony interrupted in a hoarse voice. Steve froze, like a marble statue with an outstretched hand.
"I want you to be free."
Steve opened his mouth as if to say something, furrowed his brows, clearly preparing for a scornful retort. But the ornate metal bindings on his wrists shattered with a loud crack, scattering into silvery ash. He stared at them in amazement.
Tony’s mind was devoid of any coherent thoughts, only questions. Why had he opened up to the genie? Why had he freed him? What was he supposed to do now?
"Well? Are you happy now? I won’t hold you anymore. Go, run wherever you want, fly away and take your damned lamp with you," Tony muttered, closing his eyes. Like a hysteric, like a spoiled lady throwing a tantrum before an intermission — well done, Anthony, great job.
"Anthony, what’s all that noise? What has the heiress sent you?" came his father’s shout. He stood by the staircase, staring at his son’s door, expecting to see the obedient boy who would rush out at the call, ready to accept the princess’s hand.
But his son was nowhere to be found.
Meanwhile, Steve stood in the room, staring at his wrists in disbelief. Seventy years of slavery he hadn’t deserved — and now it was over. Freedom, granted so easily by a foolish boy barely in his twenties. The urge to snap his fingers and vanish was tempting — his magic was still intact, and he could finally go home. But there was one small problem: a disheveled, sad young man slumped on the floor.
Tony lay by the bed, staring at the door with exhaustion. Fear flickered in his eyes, but he was too drained to care. His sudden outburst had left him empty. His father could yell all he wanted.
Steve, however, was not having it.
"Come with me."
"What?" Tony barely moved his lips, forcing himself to speak.
"Come with me, let’s go. "
"ANTHONY STARK, I CALLED YOU!" his father’s voice boomed, making even Steve flinch.
"What nonsense?" Tony glanced at Steve, who still stood in the center of the room, anxiety in his gaze.
"I’m your genie. You freed me, but you still have two wishes left, as a small gift. I can’t move my master without his consent."
"DON’T MAKE ME COME UP THERE! "
Steve cast a tense look at the door, then turned back to Tony, biting his lip.
"But where would we go? And why do you want me? Without my father’s wealth, I’m nothing. "
"To my home. Or… what’s left of it. I… Look, I don’t know why I want you. I don’t need your money. I don’t need any of that nonsense, but I can’t leave you here. Order me", Steve pleaded.
Tony raised his eyebrows in surprise.
"Order me, Tony Stark, to take you to a safe place — to my home, where you can change the world," Steve said more clearly, holding out his hand.
"NO ONE IN THIS CASTLE DARES IGNORE THE KING WHEN HE CALLS!" Came the sound of rapid footsteps. The enraged king was storming up the spiral stairs, ignoring the servants who fluttered around like startled birds at his fury.
"Come on, Tony," Steve urged, his tone almost begging.
Tony looked at the broad hand, which, for some reason, seemed incredibly warm. It felt like if he touched it, that warmth would spread through his entire body, making it easier to endure his father’s shouts or to think about how he’d forgotten how to use his own hands for work. It seemed like everything would become simpler if he just reached out. Would it?
He lifted his hand as if it weighed a ton, as if he understood the significance of this touch, the decision it represented.
The door slammed into the wall, splinters scattering across the marble floor.
But the king saw nothing. Nothing but blue and red smoke and an empty lamp glinting on the floor.