The drums of victory still echoed through Agra’s red sandstone walls. Dawn broke over the Yamuna, tinting the river copper and gold, and the city awoke to the sound of bugles announcing the return of its sovereign.

Jalaluddin Muhammad sat upon the Peacock Throne in Diwan-i-Khas, a young man whose eyes had already seen more blood and betrayal than most men twice his age. His emerald turban shimmered under the high arches as his generals laid the spoils of war at his feet. Victory banners from Malwa and Ajmer fluttered in the monsoon breeze, and courtiers murmured prayers for the empire’s endless expansion.