The dragon therapist stared at the princess, her eyes filled with horror and curiosity. "So, um, princess… why the armor?" She nervously tapped her claw on her notebook, watching the princess struggle within her oversized armor.

  The princess smiled, laboring to adjust her oversized helmet. "My father thought knighthood was a good use of my violent energy. He was inspired by my cousin and her wife. So now I'm the defender of the realm! Call me Princess Knight—no, Knight Princess. Or maybe Sir? No, Madam Knight? Knight Madam? No, wait, that sounds terrible." The helmet fell forward, covering her face. The princess's muffled voice echoed out of the helmet, "Fuck! I need better armor."

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  "How about just 'princess' for now?" the dragon said with a smile. "You could also ask the royal blacksmith for better-fitting armor. I agree with your father; this is good for you. You can learn to temper your anger and bring safety to the kingdom."

  "What?" The princess squeaked from inside her helmet, "Nah. I'm going to go around tormenting assholes who mistreat women."

  The dragon sighed, "Well, it's still a good use of your violent energy."