Ishtamar's speech continued, his calm façade contrasting with the chaos that was brewing in the room. Unbeknownst to him, the poison was beginning to take its toll on the nobles, his own loyalists included. Sweating, panting, and increasingly feeble, they struggled to maintain composure.
As the effects of the poison intensified, Lyle felt a strange mixture of satisfaction and anxiety. He had set his plan in motion, and the pieces were falling into place. But the next steps would determine the outcome of this elaborate gambit. He knew that they had to seize the opportunity before it slipped away.
Ishtamar, oblivious to the plight of his guests for some reason, continued to outline his proposal for unity and action. The room had grown quiet, save for the labored breaths of those affected by the poison.
