[Verse 1] Yeah. I’m Carmilla Quinn. Dubrillion princess. Smuggler blood. Szandor Quinn’s daughter. Queen Risha Drayen-Quinn’s problem. I land on Hoth with a hold full of essential supplies for a Republic base that is apparently held together by tape, rationing, and prayer. Passenger cleared. Affiliation cleared. Cargo cleared. But my clearance is still “pending.” Pending. Like my father’s sins are somehow sitting in a file drawer waiting for a bored clerk to get a new stamp. I am standing at a Republic Customs desk while some frostbitten bureaucrat tells me the mission is delayed. Delayed. Do you have any idea what’s on that ship? Food. Medical packs. Power cells. Heat modules. Things people actually need when the universe decides to turn a whole planet into a frozen asshole. And I’m supposed to smile and wait? I’m supposed to nod while good soldiers and civilians sit there freezing, starving, and bleeding because somebody in an office with a cracked data screen wants one more signature? Yeah, no. That is not happening. I can use my royal authority. I can say my name and watch this whole desk turn into a very expensive apology. Princess of Dubrillion. Direct line to a crown. Ancient title. Real consequences. So tell me why I’m still here staring at a customs clerk like he personally invented bullshit. Because if I let this drag on one more minute, someone on that base goes without the supplies I brought. And I will be damned if I let Republic soldiers and civilians die because my boxes got stuck behind goddamn paperwork. So here’s the part where you decide: you stamp the file, or I do this the royal way, and trust me, you will remember my name much more loudly than you wanted to.
