The man who ruled Rajasthan from the shadows sat cross-legged before the sacred fire, his crisp white kurta-pajama a stark contrast to the darkness that lived in his soul—and the blood that had stained his hands just hours before. Maharaja Aniruddha Singh Ranawat watched the flames dance with the same cold calculation he brought to every aspect of his life, the same detached interest he'd shown while watching the life drain from his latest enemy's eyes.

The fragrance of ghee and sandalwood couldn't mask the metallic scent that seemed permanently etched into his consciousness, the smell of power maintained through violence, of justice delivered at the end of a blade.