The One To Marry Is The Older Sister (1)

“The marriage arrangement between House Clavel and House de Broy has been decided.”

“No!!! I refuse!!! Me!!! Marrying into a house like theirs—absolutely not!!!”

The heavy voice of Count Clavel and Isabella’s shriek overlapped almost perfectly.

“The one who’s marrying should be my older sister!! Make it my older sister!! I absolutely refuse!!”

Isabella shook her head as she screamed shrilly enough to ring in the ears. Her loosely waved blonde hair fell into disarray, and tears welled up in her eyes.

“They say those people are tyrannical, hiding behind their title. Father, Father… I don’t want this, I really don’t…”

Isabella wrapped her arms around Maurice’s neck and clung to him, soaking his cheek with her tears.

At her pitiful display, her father—Count Maurice Clavel—turned his gaze toward Marguerite.

The warmth in his eyes as he looked at Isabella vanished, replaced by a cold indifference.

“That’s how it is, Marguerite.”

“…Yes.”

Unlike her sister, Marguerite possessed neither luxurious golden hair nor the acting talent to cry on command. She merely let her dull flaxen hair sway slightly and nodded in silence.

“Marrying Lucien de Broy is your duty.”

House Clavel and House de Broy shared a border and had been sworn enemies for generations.

Both the count’s house and the duke’s house had originally risen through military merit. Each held vast territories along the southern border, protecting the Kingdom of Linesh from invasion by neighboring nations.

Precisely because of that, their rivalry ran deep, and skirmishes between the two territories never ceased.

“Up until about two generations ago, those de Broy bastards were just counts. They wormed their way into the royal family, took the Fourth Prince as a son-in-law, and gained extra land and a higher title in place of a dowry.”

That was the story Maurice always repeated when he was drunk.

“They only ever look toward the royal family. If there were a real war, anyone with sense would know which house would actually be useful.”

The two houses, brimming with hostility, repeatedly raided villages and cities near the border, then accused the other of invading their territory before the royal court.

It seemed the royal family had finally reached the limit of its patience.

One day, royal envoys appeared at both estates, and soon after,

“In order to strengthen the bond between House de Broy and House Clavel and deepen their relations, arrange a marriage alliance between the two houses within one month.”

Such was the order they proclaimed.

The command came from Queen Emilenne Filienne, rumored to be the most formidable power within the royal family. It was said her influence now rivaled even that of the king. No one knew what would happen if they defied her.

House Clavel had only two daughters.

The elder sister, Marguerite, lacked flashy looks but was capable and competent, smoothly handling the management of the territory as her father’s aide.

The younger sister, Isabella, dazzled in luxurious dresses and jewels and made a name for herself in high society with the beauty inherited from her late mother—yet she barely understood the geography of her own country.

One daughter would have to remain and inherit the house, and the other would have to marry into House de Broy.

And thus, Count Maurice Clavel was forced into a painful decision— or so it would seem.

“Yes, that’s right. Just imagining sending Isabella to House de Broy makes my skin crawl. Who knows how they’d treat her?”

Holding his beautiful younger daughter close, Maurice shook his head.

“Isabella, you should stay by my—by your father’s side for now. Someday, we’ll take in a husband for you and have you inherit this house.”

“Yes, please do, Father.”

“Then it’s settled. Make the preparations at once, Marguerite.”

That was all Maurice said, glaring at Marguerite.

“Yes, understood.”

As Marguerite bowed her head, Isabella curled her lips into a mocking smile, while Maurice frowned.

“See? Our dear sister doesn’t seem to mind at all. Does she even have emotions?”

“Indeed. Being sent to marry into an enemy house… If she cried and protested like Isabella, at least she’d seem endearing.”

‘If I cried and protested, you would only curse me for talking back.’

Keeping her thoughts to herself, Marguerite left the room. Behind her, her father and sister continued to disparage her, but she paid them no mind.

Ever since her mother’s death, her father had doted excessively on Isabella, who inherited her mother’s beauty. In contrast, Marguerite—who resembled her mother little and, worse still, was clearly more capable than her father—had come to be treated with distaste.

That attitude spread to the servants as well. She was constantly treated as a burden, made to sleep in a storage-like room, and often denied meals.

Even now, all Marguerite wore was a thin, ill-fitting dress.

The one saving grace was that, while her mother was still alive, she had ensured Marguerite received a proper education.

‘This might be my chance to leave this house.’

Without this sudden marriage proposal involving their sworn enemy, Maurice would likely never have prepared any marriage at all for Marguerite.