The princess, the commoner and the sorcerer

[the sorcerer]

It wasn't easy living a double life. For during the day, he was the advisor Balveer! Looking down at the commoner boy with scorn and disgust, though during one memorable meeting he had mentioned to the Sultan, "It seems your men have acquired yet another guard in our midst. A commoner boy." But the Sultan had waved a hand genially in his direction.
"So be it!" said he, "For the boy was probably poor and malnourished." And though the sorcerer outwardly scowled in disgust, inwardly he smiled, for his plan was set in motion. Yet, at night, he met with the commoner boy, speculating and plotting. So far, as the commoner boy had relayed to him, he had had little luck with the princess, for as he guarded the door, he found the princess spent many an hour inside. And the sorcerer kept the commoner's suspicions at bay by telling him how he guarded the northmost village and returned only at night. But when the commoner, one warm night, had asked, "But why do you never remove your helmet in my presence?" the sorcerer had froze. For though he thought the boy might ask, he had not an answer ready. The sorcerer was quiet for a moment, his mind quickly cooking up a worthy lie. 
And, when he spoke, it was in a quiet murmur. "I...have chosen not to reveal my face to those I do not know or trust, for they may use it against me." 
And the commoner nodded silently. "Of course."
"But we must find ways to get you to see the princess more, for nothing will come of now." But the commoner had gone quiet, deep in thought.
"Have you of any use of the lamp?" asked he quietly.
"I will. Soon enough. But I must wait. For now, I bade you a good night." And he left, heart thumping loudly, for too many things had almost been revealed tonight. And the princess was onto him. He knew it, though he had answered each and every one of her questions. He returned to his quarters, pulling the lamp out from underneath his armor. In the dim candlelight, it glimmered spookily. Slowly, he sank onto the ground, studying it. For he feared to touch it, feeling the power of its magic. He would only touch it if his hands were covered, for he seen the exhaustion and tiredness upon the commoner's face and he blamed the magic of the lamp for the commoner's slow return. For the past week, he had been desperately trying to find a way to work the lamp. Yet, because he had only a short time in the night to observe the lamp in its entirety, there was not much he could do. He ran a gloved finger lightly over its spout and around the lid. For the umpteenth time, he tried to life to the lid of the lamp to no avail. He had tried dropping it from the ceiling, a rope tied securely around its handle. But the rope had simply snapped, the lamp bouncing contentedly to the ground. And again. A sword brought smashing into the side of the handle, in an attempt to cut it off only made his teeth rattle. And again. The lamp had only burned fiery red when he placed it over the fire in an attempt to melt it. And he could not touch it for hours. For though he had read tales of a powerful lamp able to grant any wish, the books were tight lipped on how to access its power. The sorcerer had chanted spells, waved incantations, and doused it in potions of every sort, yet the lamp would not yield its powers to him. And so, now he lay there, mindlessly rubbing a finger over its carved sides. "Why do you not yield me your power?" he murmured absentmindedly. The lamp made no reply.