She's never lied to him, hasn't ever felt the need to be anything but brutally honest when he asks whatever dumb ass question has wormed it's way into his skull. She doesn't give enough of a shit, is too much of a egotist to try and baby him.
It doesn't matter if he loves her (not that she believes the words that he is only brave enough to spew when she's goaded him into drinking too much), or if he sits patiently while she drunkenly cries out razor sharp shards of her memories onto the body of one (or all) of his carefully starched shirts. She is broken. All acid blood, twisted bones and sinew; has been for longer than she can remember and like a second hand jigsaw puzzle there are pieces missing.
'All the kings horses and all the kings men' she mutters cryptically at him when he offers to try. Doesn't he realise that it is futile to attempt it because this isn't a fairy tale, he is not a prince and she is definitely not anyone's idea of a fucking princess.
But he continues to be the boy scout anyway, sticks his head in the sand trying to avoid the unassailable truth; there isn't any way that he can fix her.
She sneers at the suggestion.