As if she could belong at the doors of a human prison any less than she could belong in the fairyland called Annwn. The Barrow-lands, though, had beauty on their side, making them enticing, which no correctional facility could be. But she wanted Dafydd to know she’d returned before he got a call from his lawyer, and so, nervous or not, Lara climbed out of the car.

The blocky prison doors opened as she did so. A uniformed police officer escorted a young man through, the youth’s expression torn between relief and nervousness at his parole. Lara sympathized: freedom was as frightening as captivity, in its own way. She had had careful constraints on her own life, intended to measure and control her exposure to the lies of well-meaning strangers, and Dafydd had torn those constraints apart. She had never imagined herself a prisoner, but watching the youth’s gaze flicker from the sky to the horizon, watching it linger on her in one part desire and one part apology, she thought she wasn’t so different from him.

“Lara Jansen,” the officer beside him said, incredulously, and Lara’s attention flinched to him.

Two days: it had been little more than two days, and well over a year, since she’d seen him. It still took a moment to fumble his name to her lips, surprise working against her more than the passage of time: “Officer Cooper. What are you doing here?”

“What am I—!” Cooper actually released his prisoner and stepped forward to seize Lara’s shoulders before remembering his duty. He retreated again, still incredulous. “I’m collecting my parolee. What are you doing here? God damn, Miss Jansen, but I was damned near the last upright citizen who saw you. I got interrogated inside-out over you.”

“I’m sorry.” Lara knotted her hands in front of her stomach, partially in self-defense and partially to prevent herself from blurting offense at his phrase. The twelve-step group members deserved better than relegation to second-class citizenship, though from her previous encounter with this man she doubted an argument would do any good. “Of course you did. I’m sorry, I didn’t realize. I’m back now. I just had to … go away for a while.” Had to carried too much weight, jangling her already-stretched nerves, and Cooper seized on the words, though for a different reason.

“Had to? It wasn’t family getting sick, it wasn’t you getting sick, what kind of ‘had to’ makes you disappear entirely?”

“I’m sorry, Officer Cooper.” Lara struggled for an explanation, then sighed and gave up with a shrug. “It’s nothing I can talk about.”

That, astonishingly, worked where a flatter refusal to explain hadn’t. Curiosity flashed through Cooper’s expression: curiosity, then answers he supplied himself. Lara, following flights of fancy, imagined stories ranging from terrible brutality to government operations, and bit back laughter. She ought to have tried that tactic with Detective Washington, rather than insisting he wouldn’t accept the truth. At least now she knew it was a truthful way through the questions and could use it in the future.

“Sure,” Cooper said awkwardly, then shouldered his charge toward a nearby police car. “I’ll see you, Miss Jansen.”

“Officer Cooper,” Lara murmured, and watched them go before drawing herself up and entering the prison.

Dafydd ap Caerwyn, immortal prince of the Seelie court, looked awful. The jewelry he had chosen to wear in the outside world had all been silver and gold, Lara recalled, not iron: not the heavy-looking stuff that weighed him down now. She wondered if it damaged him, though surely the glamour he wore must offer some protection against mortal metals.

The glamour, though, seemed shabby. It would never fool her eyes again, but watching him shuffle wearily into the visitor’s room, Lara wondered how it could fool anyone. His hair, cropped short now, did nothing to disguise the upswept tips of his ears, and she couldn’t trust her shimmering vision to tell her whether the glamour truly disguised them to human eyes. More than that, though, he simply looked fragile: his color was bad, and made worse by his orange jumpsuit, and his skin looked parched and thin, like it might break with a touch. His slender fingers were sticklike, and he’d lost muscle from his slim form. Even by Seelie standards he seemed delicate, and by human expectations, he looked so weak it was a wonder he’d managed to survive within the penal system. He shuffled to the glass phone boxes and sat without looking up, motions awkward as he lifted the phone with cuffed hands.

“Hey,” Lara whispered into the phone, and pressed her palm against the glass that separated them.

Dafydd’s head jerked up, sudden life flooding him. The glamour strengthened, making Lara dizzy, but the astonished brightness in his eyes was worth the oncoming headache. “You look awful,” she whispered through a damp smile. “Orange isn’t your color.”

“Truer words were never spoken.” Relieved laughter marked lines in Dafydd’s face as Lara crinkled her nose. “Very well,” he whispered back. “No doubt many things far truer have been said. But orange isn’t my color, and—How did you come here? You’re here, you’re alive, Lara, I’ve been so afraid. It’s been so long.” His voice broke and he kept it low with obvious effort, bringing his hand up to match Lara’s through the glass. “Did my father send you back?”

“No, I … brought myself home. How did you get here?”

“You—!” Dafydd curled his fingers into a fist against the glass, slow motion filled with uncertainty. “How?”

Lara glanced toward the security cameras, shaking her head. “I don’t think this is the time to explain. I’m sorry, Dafydd. I’m sorry about how much time passed. I’m sorry you’re in here. I’ve gone to the police already—”

“Already? How long have you been back?” His face set like he awaited injury, and mild insult washed through Lara.

“Barely a day. I had to see my mother, and I went to the police this morning, then came out here. I haven’t been ignoring you for weeks.”

Embarrassment replaced subtle injury and he flattened his hand against the glass again. “I’m sorry. How long …” His gaze went to the cameras, too, then came back to Lara. “How long were you gone?”

“I came back a few hours after you did, Dafydd. I don’t know why it was so long here. I thought the …” She didn’t want to say magic or spell under the cameras or on the phone, uncertain of whether their conversation was being recorded. “I thought it was supposed to keep time the same.”

“It was, but you were never meant to come back by yourself,” Dafydd said just as circumspectly, and for a delirious moment Lara felt badly for anyone trying to interpret their cryptic discussion. Dafydd met her eyes, intent with apology. “That could have changed things. I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault. It’s Aerin’s fault, I don’t know what happened, she lost her mind and threw you to the Unsee—to the enemy. I had her arrested.”

“What!” Dafydd blurted, then cut himself off with a strangled sound. “Lara, it was the compulsion. The one that made me—” He broke off again, glared at the cameras, then looked back at Lara, clearly hoping she followed his thoughts.

“The one that got you in trouble with Merrick.”

“Yes.” Dafydd pressed his eyes shut, then leaned in to the glass, fingertips colorless against it. “She wasn’t throwing me to the hordes, Lara, she was acting under my orders. All I wanted was to be at your side, and I couldn’t control my actions. I was afraid what would happen if I reached you.”

Cold slithered inside Lara’s chest and thrummed out to her fingers, rendering the glass warm beneath them. “Oh.” Silence drew out before she added, “I suppose I shouldn’t have broken her nose, then.”

Dafydd, astonishingly, laughed aloud. It restored vivaciousness to him, making his skin look less like aged parchment and brightening his eyes. “No, nor arrested her, but I find I can’t hold it against you, when you were acting in my best interests. Thank you. I think.”