Syn's eyes widened, a jolt of shock rippling through him as Aster's question pierced the air—"Was it because I'm the King's daughter? You don't trust me?"—her voice a fragile thread trembling with years of unspoken wounds. That wasn't it—not even close.
Trust had never been the fracture between them; if anything, Aster had spent their youth clawing against her royal blood, her every act a fierce rebellion to prove she stood apart from the Kingdom's shadow. Her insecurity had been a blazing fire, one Syn had watched burn with a mix of awe and unease, her hatred for her father and siblings a deep-rooted scar she wore like armor. He'd never doubted her loyalty—it was her ferocity that had scared him, the way she'd turned against her lineage with a venom that sometimes made him wonder if he'd lit the spark, despite her claims it had always been there.
