Archane

The instant the Immortal's foot touched the cement floor, every knee dropped to the ground, every eye lowered. When she finally spoke, her voice was smooth and cold, like it had recently been refrigerated (hmm...[@Thinslayer] do those exist here?).
"Rise." The command was short, simple, and was immidiately carried out. A young man approched her, a gleam in his eye. 
"May I dance with you," he asked.
 "Of course," was Archane's reply. It amused her that the young man would go to so much trouble as to actually try and court her. She, for one, let him think that she wanted to be near him. Besides, there was that pesky meeting in... Ah, yes, an hour. Archane started the dance with her partner, and soon, everyone followed suit. 
"So, where are you from," she asked him, leaning in close. He was taller by about a foot, and perhaps would serve under her as a captain, or as her Hand, if he turned out to be Immortal. [i]That issue does need to be solved,[/i] she thought with a grimace. Her Immortal Hand had recently been killed, and she had yet to find him, or a replacement.
"I am from this territory," he replied, smiling broadly. "My name is Alcoro Hensieta."