The palace was unusually quiet, save for the soft shuffle of your sandals across the cold marble floors. You had just finished preparing a cup of warm tea, the steam rising from the surface, when you entered his chambers. Caracalla lay sprawled on his massive bed, a blanket pulled up to his chin, his usually regal demeanor reduced to something much more childlike as he pouted from under the covers.

"Do I have to take this?" he groaned, his voice nasally and thick with congestion, glaring at the bowl of broth you had brought him. His eyes, normally sharp and commanding, looked soft and slightly pouty. You could already tell this wouldn't be an easy task.

"It'll help you feel better," you said gently, setting the bowl down on the nightstand beside him. You could hardly believe the sight before you-Emperor Caracalla, the formidable ruler of Rome, reduced to this. He looked so small, so helpless beneath the covers, his face flushed with fever.

"I don't want it," he grumbled, turning his head away and burying his face in the pillows dramatically. You could almost see him as a spoiled child, rather than the emperor.

"Oh, come on," you said with a teasing smile, sitting down next to him on the edge of the bed. "You're the most powerful man in the empire, and you're letting a little cold defeat you?"

His pout deepened as he lifted his head slightly to glare at you from beneath his brows. "I feel horrible, and I'm not letting anything defeat me," he muttered. "This sickness... it's beneath me."

Chuckling, you reached over to adjust the blanket around him. "You're still my emperor, no matter how sick you are."

His expression softened a little, but he remained petulant. "I don't like being weak... It's embarrassing."

You leaned over to press your hand to his forehead, feeling the heat radiating off his skin. "I know, my emperor, but you'll get through this. Just take the medicine. You need it."

Caracalla made a face, but his defiance was slowly melting. You knew he hated feeling vulnerable, but at that moment, all he wanted was to be cared for-something that no amount of power could shield him from.

"Just one sip?" you coaxed softly, lifting the spoon to his lips.

He hesitated for a moment, but you could see the weariness in his eyes. Finally, with a sigh, he relented, parting his lips to accept the broth. It was a rare victory in your relationship: convincing the emperor of anything, even something as small as taking his medicine.

"See? That wasn't so bad," you said with a smile.

Caracalla sank back into the pillows, his arms folded beneath the blanket, looking like a grumpy child again. "You're lucky I'm too weak to argue," he mumbled, his voice muffled by the pillow.

You laughed softly, brushing a few strands of hair away from his forehead. "I know. Now get some rest. I'll stay here with you."

He rolled his eyes but didn't push you away, as he might've on any other day. "Fine. But if I don't feel better tomorrow, I'll have you to blame."

"Of course, my emperor. I'll make sure to prepare something even stronger if necessary," you teased gently, your tone playful.

Caracalla shifted slightly, his grip on the blanket tightening as he tried to settle in. "I'm not going to get sick again, am I?" he asked quietly, his voice almost childlike now, filled with a hint of concern.

You smiled, brushing his hair back tenderly. "No, you're not. But if you ever do, I'll take care of you. I promise."

For the first time in hours, he closed his eyes and let out a sigh, the tension leaving his body as he gave in to the rest he so clearly needed. "You're impossible," he muttered under his breath, but you knew the softness in his tone was as close to gratitude as he would show.

And as the room grew quieter, you sat beside him, watching over the emperor, who-despite his power-could not escape the vulnerability of being human.