ACT 1, SCENES 6 & 7 — Combined POV
The castle loomed ahead, its walls glowing faintly in the late afternoon sun. Smoke drifted from chimneys; birds sang nervously in the gardens. The kind of peace that makes a heart race. Not the calm of safety, but the calm before a storm.
Duncan arrived first. His carriage rolled through the gates, polished, shining, regal. I watched him from the shadows, my chest tight, hands curling into fists. This man—the king—he trusted me. Laughed with me. Smiled at me. And tonight, he would sleep under the same roof as me.
We dined. We laughed. The king's voice was rich and warm, echoing through the halls. I could feel Lady Macbeth moving around him, guiding, shaping, her every gesture perfect. Every word rehearsed. Every smile hiding a knife.
++++++++++++++++++++++++
Macbeth POV
Later, when the servants had moved away, when the candles burned low, the castle quiet except for our breaths and the crackle of the hearth, I found myself pacing. Alone, I whispered to the empty room, rehearsing, arguing, rationalizing:
"If it were done when 'tis done, then 'twere well it were done quickly. If the assassination could trammel up the consequence, and catch with his surcease success…"
Could it? Could killing Duncan really end with me crowned and safe? Or would the consequences claw at me for the rest of my life? My hands trembled. My heart raced. I pictured his face, peaceful, trusting… and then the crown.
I tried to stop thinking, tried to push it away, but ambition was already tightening its grip. I saw her in my mind—Lady Macbeth—her eyes bright, her smile a dare, her voice like steel. I could hear her whispering from the shadows of the room:
"Was the hope drunk wherein you dress'd yourself? Hath it slept since?"
I shook my head, trying to push her voice away, but it lingered. Her presence was everywhere, pressing on my mind. And I could feel it, the lure of action. The pull of fate. The witches' words: King hereafter… King hereafter…
++++++++++++++++++++++++
Lady Macbeth POV
I stepped into the room silently, eyes flashing, a smile curling like a whip across my lips. My voice was soft, but deadly:
"What beast was't then, that made you break this enterprise to me? When you durst do it, then you were a man; and to be more than what you were, you would be so much more the man."
His hesitation. His fear. I saw it all. I pressed closer, my hands on his shoulders, eyes burning into his. Every ounce of weakness, every shadow of doubt—I hunted them.
"Art thou afeard to be the same in thine own act and valor as thou art in desire?"
He trembled. I leaned closer, whispering the plan in words that tasted like fire and venom:
"Screw your courage to the sticking-place, and we'll not fail."
++++++++++++++++++++++++
Macbeth POV
My chest heaved. Every instinct screamed to flee, to preserve honor, to protect the king who trusted me. Yet every cell in my body also screamed—ambition, ambition, ambition.
I whispered:"We will proceed no further in this business."
++++++++++++++++++++++++
Lady Macbeth POV
Her eyes, sharp as knives, bore into me.
"Was the hope drunk wherein you dress'd yourself? Hath it slept since? And wakes it now, to look so green and pale at what it did so freely?"
She smiled—not the sweet, polite smile of the hostess, but the smile that promised fire and ruin.
"When you durst do it, then you were a man; and to be more than what you were, you would be so much more the man."
++++++++++++++++++++++++
Macbeth POV
The crown. The whispers of the witches. The promise of destiny. My love, standing there, daring me to seize it.
I nodded, finally. No words needed. She had won. Ambition had won. Fate had whispered, and I would listen.
The castle seemed to hold its breath. Every shadow leaned closer. Every candle flickered in warning. And I realized: once this night began, there would be no turning back.
I felt the darkness coiling around my chest. Cold. Tight. Necessary.
And somewhere, in the back of my mind, the crown gleamed, waiting for the moment I would reach for it.